THE  MARRIAGE  OF 
PATRICIA  PEPPERDAY 


fNlV.  OT  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANCFJJW 


CSracc  filler 


STORM  COUNTRY  POLLY 

THE  MARRIAGE  OF  PATRICIA 
PEPPERDAY 


A  third  time  she  attempted  to  speak,  but  her  cramped 

throat  refused  to  make  audible  sound. 

FRONTISPIECE.    See  page  317. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF 
PATRICIA  PEPPERDAY 


BY 


GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 


WITH   FRONTISPIECE    BY 

RALPH  P.  COLEMAN 


Copyright,  1922, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


Att  rights  reserved 
Published  February,  1922 


PBINTED  DJ  THE  UNITED  STATES  or  AVTEBICA 


TO 

MY  LITTLE  FRIEND 
JOE  SCOTT 


2133700 


THE  MARRIAGE   OF 
PATRICIA   PEPPERDAY 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF 
PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER   I 

IF,  by  chance,  a  stranger  addressed  Adelina  Pepperday 
as  "Mrs.  Pepperday,"  she  was  accustomed  to  explain 
with  a  smile  illuminating  her  face:  "Miss  Pepperday  — 
by  choice,  thank  you!" 

There  was  a  good  reason  for  this  "by  choice,"  so 
Adelina's  friends  averred,  for  many  of  them  remembered 
that  a  certain  young  man  had  left  Balmville  with  a  hang- 
dog air  after  Madison  Pepperday's  eighteen-year-old 
sister  had  broken  off  her  engagement  with  him.  The  ins 
and  outs  of  the  disrupted  betrothal  were  known  to  none 
but  Adelina  and  the  swain  she  had  dismissed. 

Men  were  out  of  her  life  forever,  she  told  herself, 
as  often  as  she  allowed  her  mind  to  dwell  upon  the  mas- 
culine sex. 

The  old-fashioned  Pepperday  homestead  on  Black- 
berry Lane  in  Balmville,  a  suburb  of  Newburgh  on  the 
Hudson,  was  Adelina's  home.  She  lived  there  "by 
choice"  also,  as  she  had  often  reiterated.  Her  brother, 
Madison,  after  he  had  taken  for  his  wife  Charlotte  Rush- 
more,  purchased  a  handsome  residence  of  his  own  a 
mile  or  so  distant,  and  he  never  ceased  his  efforts  to 
persuade  his  sister  to  join  his  family  circle  as  a  per- 
manent member. 


4    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"No  house  big  enough  for  two  families,  Mat,  dear," 
was  her  reply  each  time  the  subject  was  broached.  "  The 
place  where  my  father  and  mother  lived  and  which  they 
left  to  me  when  they  died,  is  good  enough  for  me.  I 
intend  to  be  an  old  maid,  anyway." 

One  day,  a  year  or  so  following  Madison's  marriage, 
Adelina  in  astounded  wonderment,  gazed  down  upon  three 
sleeping  infants  who  were  snuggled  together  like  newly 
born  kittens. 

"  Here  they  all  are,  Aunt  Addie,"  Madison  said, 
grinning,  "two  boys  and  one  girl  —  Barney,  Michael  and 
Patricia  Pepperday!  Newburgh  will  open  her  eyes 
when  they  grow  up,  by  Jove.  Touch  'em,  Addie !  They 
won't  bite  you." 

And  Adelina,  extremely  perturbed,  touched  them. 
First  she  laid  her  finger  against  Barney's  soft  cheek, 
but  he  slept  through  the  ordeal  as  if  he  did  not  mind  it 
in  the  least. 

"  Touch  the  rest,  Addie.  The  middle  one  is  a  girl! 
She's  a  wee  bitty  like  you,  sis." 

Having  discovered  that  both  she  and  the  small  boy 
were  intact,  she  placed  a  cautious  hand  on  Patricia's 
dark  head.  That  done,  she  drew  back  as  if  her  duty 
had  been  well  performed. 

"  Don't  show  partiality,  Auntie,"  her  brother  laugh- 
ingly admonished.  "  Here's  another!" 

Then  a  most  unusual  thing  happened.  Large  drops 
of  water  rolled  down  Adelina's  pretty,  smooth  cheeks. 

"  There's  such  a  mess  of  'em,  Mat!"  she  sighed. 

Nevertheless,  by  that  time  having  become  used  to 
the  process,  she  bravely  picked  up  the  third  baby's 
hand.  Then  she  nearly  fell  over  upon  him.  He  had 
clutched  hold  of  one  of  her  digits  with  a  thumb  and 
four  fingers  which  Aunt  Addie  could  liken  only  to  so 
many  curled  leaves  of  a  summer  rose.  Then  Michael 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     5 

opened  his  gray  eyes  and  yawned  with  a  mouth  no  larger 
than  a  scarlet  button. 

With  that  Adelina's  breathing  was  so  interfered  with 
by  a  great  gasp  that  she  fled  to  the  door,  but  something 
within  herself  gave  her  pause. 

"  The  last  one  belongs  to  me,"  she  gulped  at  her 
brother.  "Tell  Charlotte  I  said  so.  He's  got  eyes  like 
mine,  and  he  smiled  at  me,  I  hope  to  goodness  if  he 
didn't.  He  gets  my  house  and  what  money  I  leave,  when 
I'm  done  with  'em,  Mat." 

That  night  Aunt  Addie  swept  out  the  dust  that  had 
accumulated  in  the  secret  mansion  of  her  heart  during 
the  seven  years  since  she  had  become  "  Miss  Pepperday, 
by  choice,"  and  the  three  sleeping  tenants  moved  in  and 
took  a  life  lease  on  the  property.  But,  as  she  later  told 
herself  and  made  plain  to  others,  Michael  Pepperday 
occupied  the  star  chamber  in  her  soul  suite. 

She  watched  with  the  interest  of  a  mother  the  babies 
grow  into  toddlers,  and,  during  an  attack  of  scarlet 
fever,  she  abandoned  her  own  home  to  hover  over  the 
triplets  with  never-ceasing  prayers.  When  the  rash  had 
subsided,  she  went  back  to  Blackberry  Lane  with  the 
feeling  that  of  course  the  neighbors  thought  her  weak  and 
foolish,  but  she  did  not  give  a  hang  if  they  did. 

Now,  nineteen  years  later,  an  older  although  still  un- 
usually good  looking  Adelina  was  standing  at  her  window, 
peering  out  through  the  pane  of  glass  slightly  varnished 
with  frost.  Not  that  her  action  was  of  any  avail,  for  the 
outside  world  was  obscured  by  a  fall  of  snow,  dropping 
straight  down  toward  the  earth. 

Earlier  in  the  day  the  storm  had  coursed  in  from  the 
north,  crystallizing  hoarily  the  withered  stalks  of  the 
garden  flowers,  while  each  separate  branch  of  the  hem- 
lock trees  that  girded  the  house  was  decorated  with  a 
peculiar,  frosty  fluff  of  white. 


6     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

The  Pepperday  triplets  were  home  for  the  Christmas 
holidays,  and  but  a  moment  since,  Adelina's  niece,  Patri- 
cia, had  telephoned  that  she  had  just  returned  from  New 
York  and  had  "a  bushel  of  news  to  tell  her." 

Anything  concerning  her  cherished  children  always 
set  Adelina  in  a  flutter,  and,  because  she  could  not  see 
much  further  than  the  end  of  her  shapely  nose,  she  turned 
from  the  window  with  a  sigh. 

Meanwhile  Patricia  Pepperday  was  gliding  swiftly  over 
the  snow  on  her  skis  to  unbosom  to  Aunt  Addie  the  sud- 
den change  that  now  faced  her  family. 

Below  the  medium  height  of  women  by  several  inches, 
Patricia  was  exquisitely  if  diminutively  fashioned,  and  as 
straightly  erect  as  the  poplar  trees  that  edged  the  Foster- 
town  road.  As  she  swung  along,  white  teeth  gleamed 
through  her  smiling  lips.  From  under  the  narrow  brim 
of  her  small  hat,  blue  in  color,  stray  curls  twisted,  raven- 
black,  about  her  winsome  face.  Her  sand-gray  eyes, 
arched  by  dark  brows  and  rimmed  by  sweeping  lashes, 
were  sparkling  with  confidence  and  high  resolve. 

A  few  yards  before  she  reached  Blackberry  Lane,  she 
paused  in  an  attitude  of  expectancy.  Not  that  she  was 
fearful,  unaccompanied,  in  the  solitary  highway,  nor  was 
she  alarmed  at  the  storm  that  followed  the  river  on  its 
way  to  the  sea.  But  at  this  juncture  her  heart  was  going 
pit-a-pat,  the  blood  in  her  veins  surging  in  excitation. 
She  was  bidding  a  sort  of  farewell  to  the  wild  land  of 
her  childhood,  for  during  her  visit  to  the  city  she  had 
turned  the  first  sharp  corner  of  her  sheltered  years.  She 
would  soon  be  enveloped  by  New  York's  Broadway  with 
its  covered  wonders.  Out  here  in  the  winter  silence  she 
longed  to  relive  the  emotions  called  into  being  in  the 
presence  of  Martin  Brewer,  Broadway's  eminent  play- 
wright. She  visualized  his  kindly  smile  and  smiled  her- 
self at  the  memory. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     7 

In  his  directors'  room,  Mr.  Brewer  had  said: 

"I've  in  mind  a  story  that  will  suit  you  three  young- 
sters down  to  the  ground,  but  it  isn't  finished.  However, 
we'll  start  you  in  on  something  else,  so  you  can  get  to 
work  immediately. 

"Sing  this  bit  for  me,  Miss  Pepperday,"  and  she  had 
sung  a  song  of  Mr.  Brewer's  own  composition,  around 
which  he  intended  to  build  a  Biblical  allegory,  so  he  told 
her. 

Now  she  hummed  it  over  and  spoke  the  first  line  of 
the  song  aloud: 

"  There  is  a  River,  the  Streams  whereof  shall  make 
Glad  the  City  of  God." 

How  reverently  strong  ran  the  beautiful  words  to  the 
finish ! 

The  City  of  God!  Ignorant  of  what  the  metropolis 
held  for  her,  the  innocent  Patricia  decided  that  that  City 
was  New  York,  the  River  was  Broadway,  —  Broadway 
with  its  streams  of  music  and  laughter  and  song! 

Three  days  before  yesterday  she  had  been  a  prankish 
schoolgirl.  To-day  the  City  of  God  had  divorced  her 
completely  from  Vassar,  that  mighty  seat  of  learning,  the 
Alma  Mater  of  her  adolescent  dreams.  Not  that  she 
loved  Vassar  less,  but  her  splendid  Pater  more. 

A  cold  weather  bird  in  the  barren  tree  above  her 
sounded  a  weird,  short  chirp.  Patricia  flung  up  her  head 
and  in  quick  response  twittered  back  at  him.  A  small 
flock  of  crows  passed  over  Blackberry  Lane  southward. 
She  smiled  after  them  in  gladness  of  spirit.  She  laughed 
aloud  as  a  smart  young  rabbit  bounced  across  her  path, 
but  he  was  out  of  sight  before  she  could  wish  him  a 
"Merry  Christmas."  God's  creatures  were  loving  life  as 
she  loved  it. 

Then  she  started  on  the  slow  climb  up  Blackberry 
Lane,  to  reveal  the  great  news  to  Aunt  Addie. 


8    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Not  going  back  to  school,  Patricia!"  exclaimed 
Adelina,  aghast.  "  For  mercy's  sake,  take  off  your  coat 
and  sit  down.  Tell  me  all  about  it  while  I  make  you  a 
cup  of  tea." 

The  removal  of  Patricia's  fur  coat  revealed  what  a  mite 
of  a  girl  she  was  in  spite  of  her  nineteen  years. 

"  The  Pater  was  almost  heart-broken,"  she  said,  sinking 
into  a  chair,  "  but,  as  I  asked  him,  what  are  his  children 
for  if  not  to  help  him,  and  you'll  see  it  our  way,  too,  I 
know!" 

While  her  niece  amplified  her  explanations,  Adelina  con- 
tented herself  with  exclamations  and  ejaculations  of  won- 
der and  sympathy.  Her  intense  interest  in  the  subject 
matter  overcame  for  the  time  being  her  inordinate  fond- 
ness for  verbal  comment. 

It  seemed  that  Madison  Pepperday  had  become  in- 
volved in  a  wild-cat  oil  scheme  at  the  instigation  of  a 
young  lawyer  by  the  name  of  Edward  Blake  who  had 
a  country  home  just  east  of  Miss  Pepperday's  farm- 
house. 

"  I  thought  the  Pater  looked  awfully  pale  when  I  got 
home  from  college,"  Patricia  went  on,  "  and  it  took  me 
two  hours  to  wheedle  out  of  him  that  he  had  sunk  so 
much  money  in  the  wells  that  he  didn't  know  which  way 
to  turn." 

"  My  goodness,"  interjected  Adelina,  "  it  doesn't  seem 
like  Mat  at  all." 

"No,  it  doesn't!  Yet,  I  can  see  just  how  father 
started.  He  told  me  all  the  details.  You  know  how 
smooth  and  oily  Eddie  Blake  can  be  when  he  likes.  Then 
he's  an  alderman  of  New  York,  and  I  suppose  there's 
some  glamour  about  that." 

"  He  has  no  glamour  for  me,"  popped  in  Miss  Pepper- 
day. 

"  And  then,"  continued  Patricia,  disregarding  the  inter- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     9 

ruption,  "  when  he  had  the  Pater  so  tangled  up  he 
couldn't  move,  Eddie  suggested  that  he'd  advance  father 
what  money  he  needed  if — if  I'd  marry  him." 

Her  cheeks  went  scarlet  as  the  last  words  fell  from 
her  lips. 

Adelina  was  staring  at  her,  her  mouth  open. 

"  The  very  idea!"  she  cried.  "  Why,  he's  as  tall  again 
as  you  are!  You'd  break  your  neck,  trying  to  look  at 
him.  He  bragged  to  my  hired  man  just  the  other  day 
that  he  stands  six  feet  four  and  a  half  inches  in  his 
stocking  feet." 

"  I  presume  he  does,"  agreed  Patricia.  "  His  height 
is  nothing  against  him.  I  like  tall  men.  But  nothing 
on  earth  could  induce  me  to  marry  a  man  with  his  prin- 
ciples. And  besides  that,  he  drinks  too  much." 

"  I  know  it,  dearie,  and  I'm  glad  you  have  the  spirit 
to  stand  out  against  him.  Nothing  you  could  tell  me 
about  him  would  surprise  me  a  bit.  I've  just  had  an 
experience  with  him. 

"  Why,  Paddy,  one  of  his  barn  cats  lost  its  leg  in  a 
trap  some  boy  set  in  my  fodder  lot  not  long  ago.  The 
poor  hurt  beast  couldn't  walk  on  three  legs,  so  there  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  bring  'im  down  here." 

"  Oh,  my,"  burst  in  Patricia  with  sympathy,  "  have 
you  him  yet?  May  I  see  him?" 

"  Of  course,"  nodded  Aunt  Addie.  "  He  isn't  happy 
anywhere  but  in  my  room,  so  I  let  him  stay  up  there. 
I  telephoned  over  to  Blake  about  him,  and  he  talked 
to  me  as  slick  as  could  be.  Said  he  was  very  sorry 
that  I  should  have  been  bothered — but  did  he  send  any 
one  after  that  cat  or  come  himself  as  a  Christian  ought 
to?  No,  he  didn't,  not  by  a  jugful,  and  the  animal  is 
still  here  and  will  be  the  rest  of  his  natural  days,  if  I 
don't  miss  my  guess.  The  more  I  know  of  Mr.  Blake, 
the  better  I  like  his  three-legged  cat — my  cat,  I  mean. 


io    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Now,  there's  your  tea,  honey.  Sit  up  to  the  table  and 
drink  it  while  it  is  hot." 

Her  tone  melted  into  tenderness  on  her  last  admonition. 
Her  brother's  pronouncement  at  his  daughter's  birth  that 
his  little  girl  was  "  a  wee  bitty  like  "  Adelina  had  proved 
true. 

Michael  had  declared  in  a  facetious  moment: 

"  Aunt  Addie's  taller  than  Paddy  just  because  she 
wears  woolen  stockings." 

For  a  while,  during  which  Patricia  drank  the  tea  and 
devoured  several  home-made  doughnuts,  both  were  silent. 

"  I  wish  I  had  money  enough  to  keep  you  children  in 
school,  Pat,"  said  Adelina,  from  her  position  at  the 
stove.  "  It  seems  dreadful  for  all  of  you  to  stop  now 
in  the  midde  of  your  second  year.  If  I  hadn't  promised 
Mike  this  place,  I'd  sell  it — and — and — " 

Her  hesitating  sentence  was  checked  abruptly  by  Patri- 
cia springing  up  from  her  chair. 

"  You  dear  old  plum,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Not  one  of 
us  would  hear  to  that.  I  should  think  not!  Besides, 
there's  no  need,  Auntie.  The  Pater  will  get  on  his  feet 
again  soon,  and  in  the  meantime  —  But  I  haven't  told 
you  the  best  part  of  it.  The  boys  and  I  are  going  on  the 
stage!  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"  On  the  stage!"  gasped  Adelina.  "  Why,  your  father 
won't  let  you!" 

"  He  wouldn't  at  first,"  admitted  Patricia. 

Then  Aunt  Addie  had  to  hear  all  about  Martin  Brewer, 
how  splendid  he  was  and  what  big,  handsome  fellows  he 
had  said  Barney  and  Michael  were. 

"  Yum-yum  cried  when  I  told  her  about  it,"  said  Pa- 
tricia, her  throat  thickening  at  the  memory,  "  but  mother 
has  lots  of  sense,  even  if  she  can't  see.  And  she  was 
glad  when  she  found  it  was  Mr.  Brewer  who  is  going 
to  have  us  in  charge." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     n 

"  Yum-yum  "  was  Barney's  and  Michael's  and  Patri- 
cia's pet  name  for  their  small  mother. 

Several  years  before  Charlotte  Pepperday  had  lost  the 
power  to  see,  and  it  was  a  scrupulously  followed  rule  of  her 
family  that,  so  far  as  possible,  she  should  be  kept  in 
ignorance  of  the  worries  which  once  in  a  while  eventuate 
in  the  most  orderly  of  households. 

"  I  argued  with  the  Pater  not  to  tell  her  our  financial 
trouble  right  away/'  imparted  Patricia,  "  but  he  said, 
'Yes!'" 

Adelina  coughed  to  hide  her  emotion. 

"  The  stage  might  be  all  right  for  you  and  Barney," 
she  faltered.  "  But  what  about  Michael?  He's  such  an 
impetuous  laddie!" 

"  He  is  a  little  headstrong,  dear,"  conceded  Patricia 
thoughtfully,  "  but  he's  so  fine — he's  so  fine — " 

"  And  so  good,"  pointed  out  Adelina,  quickly. 

"  Yes,  the  best  and  most  beautiful  boy  in  the  world! 
There's  something  about  him,  Aunt  Addie,  that  gets  down 
deep  in  my  heart.  I've  worried  a  lot  over  him,  especially 
since  he  was  mixed  up  in  that  hazing  scrape  at  Princeton. 
But,  of  course,  he'll  be  all  right!" 

"Of  course!  "  came  in  smiling  agreement.  "Surely, 
he  will!" 

"  Now  you  know  as  much  as  I  do,  dear,"  said  Patricia, 
"  and  you  needn't  worry  about  the  Pater,  because  I 
left  him  a  lot  happier  with  Yum-yum.  I  must  run  along 
home  now." 

She  had  harnessed  on  her  skis  and  was  ready  to  glide 
away  when  Adelina  called  to  her: 

"  Paddy,  don't  breathe  it  to  him,  but  I  bought  Michael 
a  gold  pencil  for  Christmas.  Tell  him  to  come  over 
to-night  if  he  can.  Tell  him  I  made  him  a  mince  pie, 
and  he'd  better  come  and  get  it  before  some  one  else 
eats  it  up." 


12     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  II 

PERHAPS,  the  Bar  Association  of  the  City  of  New  York 
boasted  no  more  spectacular  figure  than  Patrick  O'Kel- 
leron.  By  birth  he  was  connected  with  some  of  the 
oldest  families  in  New  England.  His  wealth,  the  inheri- 
tance from  a  paternal  uncle,  placed  him  among  the  really 
rich  in  the  great  city.  Nevertheless,  being  a  clear-brained 
young  man,  in  the  habit  of  doing  his  own  thinking,  he 
had  made  his  fortune  his  servant  and  already,  at  twenty- 
seven,  had  made  a  not  unenviable  record  in  his  profession. 

But  Patrick's  ambitions  reached  beyond  his  legal  prac- 
tice, although  he  had  been  gratified  at  the  invitation  to 
join  the  staff  of  lawyers  who  acted  as  aides  to  the  District 
Attorney  of  New  York  County  and  had  accepted  the 
assignment  as  a  civic  duty.  Some  day,  however,  he 
intended  to  try  his  hand  at  turning  out  a  novel  or,  possi- 
bly, a  play.  But  that  would  not  be  just  yet. 

With  the  delight  of  a  boy  he  was  now  striding  along 
the  Fostertown  Road  on  his  way  to  the  home  of  Edward 
Blake.  The  vast  expanse  of  snow  was  glorious,  and  he 
was  glad  he  had  accepted  Blake's  invitation  for  the  week- 
end at  Balmville;  not  that  he  was  enthusiastic  over  the 
holiday  house  party  of  which  he  was  to  be  a  member, 
for  generally  he  deemed  such  affairs  stupid.  A  fellow 
met  so  many  uninteresting  people,  and  in  Patrick's  opin- 
ion most  social  functions  wasted  a  deal  of  valuable  time. 

However,  the  fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  an  intimate 
friend  of  O'Kelleron's,  Martin  Brewer,  had  asked  him  as 
a  personal  favor  to  give  the  young  politician  a  lift  up 
toward  a  judgeship.  So  that  when  Blake  had  called  him 
on  the  telephone  that  morning,  he  had  considered  this 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     13 

an  excellent  opportunity  to  study  the  candidate  in  his 
own  environment  before  he  came  out  openly  as  his  politi- 
cal supporter. 

"  He'll  make  a  good  enough  judge,  Pat,"  Brewer  had 
said  in  one  of  their  conversations.  "  Eddie's  got  the 
ambition  in  his  blood,  so  let's  help  him  get  it  out.  His 
father  was  a  pal  of  mine,  and  a  fine-hearted  chap  he  was, 
too." 

O'Kelleron  had  just  examined  the  signpost  which  noti- 
fied him  he  had  reached  Blackberry  Lane  when  he  saw 
dashing  down  the  road  toward  him  a  girl  on  skis,  a  small 
girl,  very  young,  too,  he  imagined  by  the  flaming  color 
in  her  cheeks  and  the  fearless  blaze  of  her  stone-gray  eyes. 

She  descended  to  the  level  of  his  position  where,  once 
on  the  flat,  she  came  to  a  halt.  From  his  great  height  he 
impulsively  sent  her  a  dazzling  smile.  For  her  part  she 
was  startled  by  the  sudden  encounter  with  a  man  of  such 
unusual  beauty.  Involuntarily  her  own  face  dimpled  into 
a  feminine  response  to  his.  An  instant  only  she  main- 
tained her  position.  Then  she  sped  away  down  the  next 
grade,  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  although  she 
was  very  little,  she  was  not  such  a  child  after  all.  She 
was  pretty,  though!  Yes,  by  Jove,  more  than  pretty! 

That  same  evening  Madison  Pepperday  was  seated  in 
his  den  with  Patricia  on  a  stool  at  his  feet. 

"  My  little,  little  girl,"  he  murmured,  "  I  never  would 
have  believed  you  could  have  so  satisfied  your  mother 
about  your  new  venture.  She  seems  entirely  reconciled." 

The  speaker  was  tall  and  superelegant  in  boyish  slen- 
derness  in  spite  of  his  fifty  years.  Only  the  thick,  white 
hair  that  covered  his  head  attested  that  age  was  creeping 
upon  him. 

"  It's  more  than  I  can  say  about  myself,  though,"  he 
continued  in  a  harassed  voice.  "  But  I  can't  see  any 
other  way  just  now." 


14    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

She  interrupted  him  by  putting  an  arm  around  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  my  Pater,  my  dearest  dear,"  she  breathed,  "  I 
love  you  better  than  anyone  in  the  world,  and  you 
can  have  all  the  money  I  earn,  and  I  imagine  it'll  be 
a  lot  for  a  fresh  kid  from  what  Mr.  Brewer  hinted. 

"  He  said  that  we  children  all  looked  alike,  and  then  I 
said :  '  Well,  we're  triplets,  that's  why ! '  and  he  laughed 
and  said  I  was  to  give  you  his  congratulations,  and  to 
tell  you  he  wished  he  had  ten  sets  of  three  just  like  us. 
.  .  .  I  thought  that  was  funny,  Pater." 

But  she  did  not  laugh.  Rather  did  she  lapse  into  the 
same  silence  that  had  fallen  upon  Madison  Pepperday. 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  thus,  looking  into  the  log 
fire.  It  was  at  these  times,  when  alone  with  her  father, 
that  Patricia  built  air  castles,  and  the  flames,  varying 
in  color  from  a  discernible  blue  to  a  luminous  yellow, 
leaping  up  here  suddenly  and  dying  down  in  another 
spot  into  incandescent  red  embers,  wiped  away  the  ache 
that  had  hurt  her  through  the  family  conferences. 

Suddenly  she  glanced  up. 

"  Pater,"  she  began,  "  is  there  a  man  living  around 
here  anywhere  with  red  hair  —  a  man  as  big  as  Eddie 
Blake?" 

Skirting  Balmville  and  its  vicinity  with  his  mental  eye, 
the  Pater  considered  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  don't  know  of  any,"  he  responded  finally. 
«  Why?  » 

"  Nothing  much/'  she  answered,  turning  her  pensive 
gaze  back  to  the  grate.  "  Only  I  almost  ran  over  a 
stranger  to-day  at  Blackberry  Lane,  and  I  wondered  if 
any  new  families  had  meved  in.  He  looked  so  enormous; 
why,  I  believe,  he's  even  bigger  than  Eddie." 

"  There  are  several  house  parties  in  the  neighborhood," 
interrupted  Madison.  "  Christmas  parties,  you  know. 
Perhaps,  he's  out  for  one." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     15 

"  Perhaps,"  sighed  Patricia.     "  That's  very  likely  it." 

She  was  secretly  ashamed  the  next  morning  when  she 

recalled  her  dreams.    A  big,  big  man  with  brilliant  red 

hair  and  golden-brown  eyes  had  smiled  at  her  through 

her  sleep-hours. 


16    THE    MARRIAGE   OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER    III 

The  succeeding  eight  months  had  erected  a  massive 
edifice  of  experience  in  stageland  for  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  Pepperday  family.  As  the  saying  goes, 
Barney,  Michael  and  Patricia  had  made  good  in  vaudeville 
under  the  sobriquet  of  the  "  Golden  Pepperdays."  In 
a  merry  scene  at  their  theatrical  baptism  Martin  Brewer 
had  dubbed  them  with  this  appellation. 

Enthusiastic  audiences  in  all  the  large  cities  east  of 
Chicago  had  hailed  the  triplet  trio  with  unlimited  appro- 
bation; and  now,  at  the  beginning  of  the  fall  season, 
Broadway  was  to  be  given  an  opportunity  to  add  her 
bit  to  their  fame. 

Thus  it  happened  that  one  afternoon,  early  in  Sep- 
tember, Patricia  sat,  waiting  in  Martin  Brewer's  reception 
office  in  the  Candler  Building  on  Forty-second  Street. 
She  was  enjoying  the  contents  of  one  of  his  bulky  pam- 
phlets, and,  as  she  read,  she  smiled,  her  fancy  caught  by 
the  unconventional  theme  of  his  thesis.  Every  sentence 
was  Breweresque.  No  mind  but  his  could  have  conceived 
them,  and  no  pen  expressed  them  but  one  tipped  with 
universal  love. 

During  the  months  she  had  been  associated  with  the 
distinguished  playwright,  she  had  discovered  that  he  lived 
always  on  the  high  plane  of  the  words  under  her  eyes. 

"  The  heart  of  the  infinite  God  brims  over  with  love 
for  all  the  babies  born  into  this  good  old  world,  white 
babies,  red  babies  and  black  babies!  God  love  'em!  God 
bless  'em!  God  save  'em!" 

Patricia  thrilled  to  her  toes.  Of  course,  she  believed 
that,  too.  Somehow,  the  sight  of  a  warm,  wriggly  baby 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     17 

always  touched  her  with  an  uplifted  feeling  akin  to 
her  response  to  a  glorious  strain  of  music,  the  sobbing 
of  the  fall  winds  or  the  roaring  of  the  sea.  For  the  moment 
she  forgot  that,  not  two  hundred  feet  away,  Broadway, 
black  with  people  of  her  own  cult,  arteried  the  city  from 
end  to  end.  Martin's  "  God  love  'em!  God  bless  'em! 
God  save  'em!"  slogan  had  suggested  a  picture  to  her 
sensitive  mind  of  a  vast  army  of  children  whose  needs 
were  great. 

Her  eyes  darkened  with  sympathy.  Emotional  mo- 
ments, like  these,  awakened  a  memory  which  she  jeal- 
ously guarded.  A  gust  of  wind,  a  flurry  of  leaves,  a  heart 
appeal,  returned  her  in  spirit  to  Balmville.  So  often  had 
she  pictured  a  red-haired  giant  smiling  at  her  in  Black- 
berry Lane  that  he  was  now  a  part  of  her  daily  reveries. 
He  had  become  idealized  among  the  fellow  creatures  of 
her  intimate  world.  She  had  never  seen  him  again  and 
did  not  expect  to,  neither  had  she  ever  beheld  a  man  like 
him.  She  sighed.  She  was  positive  that  there  was  no 
other  such  invincible  figure  walking  the  earth. 

With  another  long,  indrawn  breath,  she  fell  again  to 
reading. 

"Subsidize  the  mothers!  Give  'em  money;  give  'em 
comforts.  Give  'em  good  food,  fresh  air, — in  fact,  bless 
their  hearts,  give  'em  everything  they  ask  for.  I  say  to 
every  man  with  a  heart  beneath  his  ribs:  Dig  down  in 
your  pockets  for  'em!" 

Patricia  considered  a  moment.  Many  of  her  friends 
were  mothers,  and  she  had  discovered  in  associating  with 
them  that,  contrary  to  the  world  belief  that  stage  women 
were  butterflies,  they  worked  endlessly,  passionately,  for 
their  youngsters. 

Some  of  Patricia's  sadness  was  wiped  away  as  the 
thought  of  her  parents  came  into  her  mind.  She  and  her 
brothers  had  spent  the  whole  of  yesterday  with  them  in 


1 8    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Balmville.  She  glowed  in  remembering  that  the  troubled 
expression  had  gone  from  the  Pater's  face.  Out  of  Mar- 
tin Brewer's  steady  upbuilding  of  broken  lives,  her  father 
had  reconstructed  himself  in  such  a  manner  that  he  was 
again  venturing  into  business.  Brewer  had  aided  him 
materially;  and  Patricia  realized  that  what  the  manager 
had  done  for  the  Pepperdays  was  but  a  small  bit  of  his 
"  God  save  'em!"  endeavor. 

Once  in  a  while,  when  she  heard  the  elevator  door  open 
in  the  hall  outside,  she  lifted  her  eager,  dimpled  face,  and 
at  length,  when  Brewer  entered  the  room,  she  sprang  up 
to  greet  him. 

He  was  a  tall,  portly  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  florid 
of  complexion  and  scant  of  hair.  The  long  years  he  had 
been  in  business  in  New  York,  writing  and  producing 
plays  and  managing  theaters  along  the  street  of  bluff 
and  bustle,  had  etched  lines  upon  his  fine  countenance 
in  spite  of  its  fullness. 

As  he  caught  sight  of  the  girl's  exquisite  figure,  a  flush 
mounted  to  his  forehead. 

"Ah,  Paddy,  this  is  the  best  ever!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  make  the  rehearsal  to-day.  But 
never  mind!  You  were  all  perfect  in  your  parts  in  Bal- 
timore, so  1  should  worry.  The  fact  is,  girlie,  I've  got 
an  excuse  that  can't  be  beat.  I  was  looking  over  a  string 
of  kids  as  long  as  from  here  to  the  Battery." 

Smilingly  Patricia  walked  beside  him  through  several 
offices  where  numerous  stenographers  were  occupied  at 
desks  and  on  into  a  large  room  with  "  Mr.  Brewer — Pri- 
vate." in  black  letters  across  a  clouded  pane  of  glass. 

Once  the  door  of  his  sanctum  had  been  closed  behind 
them,  Martin's  blue  eyes  beamed  with  delight.  This  was 
one  of  the  times  that  he  looked  younger  than  his  age. 
Seeing  Patricia  Pepperday  had  seemingly  reeled  back  the 
calendar  a  good  fifteen  years. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     19 

"  It's  great  to  have  you  in  New  York,  Lady  Pat,"  he 
said  warmly.  "  I'm  as  tickled  as  a  boy  with  a  new  top, 
and  Benny'll  jump  out  of  his  shoes  when  he  sees  you  this 
afternoon.  Your  work  must  agree  with  you,  dearie.  Sit 
there  where  I  can  shake  a  happy  eyelid  at  you.  Rehearsal 
went  well  I  suppose?  " 

"  Splendid,"  she  exulted  gaily,  dropping  into  the  chair 
he  had  drawn  up  near  his  work  table.  "  And,  Martin, 
Michael's  making  the  hit  of  his  life  as  David.  People, 
especially  the  girls,  are  wild  about  him.  Isn't  he  a  picture 
in  his  shepherd's  costume?" 

"  Always  something  doing  when  the  Pepperdays  are 
around,"  supplemented  Brewer  promptly.  "  Great  kids, 
both  your  brothers!  Two  fine  boys,  Barney  and  Mike!" 

Then  his  confident  smile  of  ready  acquiescence  fell 
away  into  long,  troubled  lines.  An  image  of  another 
young  man,  his  son,  his  only  child  in  fact,  had  framed 
itself  in  his  mind  beside  the  Pepperdays.  At  the  age  of 
six,  Benny  Brewer  had  fallen  from  a  tree  and  injured 
his  back.  For  weeks  he  had  hung  between  life  and  death, 
his  father  in  frantic  anxiety  summoning  surgical  experts 
from  every  corner  of  the  continent.  Then,  after  weary 
months  of  torture,  Benny  had  left  his  bed,  the  pallid 
shadow  of  his  former  self. 

The  smile  trembled  away  from  Patricia's  lips.  She 
had  seen  the  gloom  wipe  the  laughter  out  of  her  com- 
panion's blue  eyes,  and  she  knew  the  cause  of  his  inner 
anguish. 

"  Martin,"  she  ventured,  "  I  know  what  you  are  think- 
ing about." 

"  Of  course  you  do!  Een's  on  my  mind  most  every 
minute.  But  I'll  be  jiggered  if  that  doesn't  give  me  a 
chance  to  give  you  a  pointer  or  two,  Lady  Pat." 

Supporting  her  chin  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  Patricia 
bent  forward  uneasily. 


20    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"  I  always  preach,  Paddy,"  he  began,  "  that,  even  if 
one's  unhappy,  it  helps  a  lot  to  smile.  It's  gospel  truth 
that  you  can't  think  of  your  troubles  with  a  good,  wide 
grin  on!  That's  what  I  do  when  I'm  with  Ben,  and  I 
want  you  to  do  the  same  thing.  See? 

"  Now,  if  I  come  across  a  sick,  hungry  baby,  do  I  go 
around,  mollygrubbing,  seeing  him  always  ill?  I  do  not! 
I  hotfoot  at  him  and  stuff  his  empty  stomach.  Then  I 
tickle  him  up  a  bit,  and,  by  golly,  he's  soon  as  fat  as  a 
sausage." 

"  But  I'm  so  sorry  for  Benny,  Martin,"  murmured  Pa- 
tricia. 

"Of  course  you  are,  sweet  child!  Your  heart's  as 
tender  as  a  Christmas  pudding,  but  you  mustn't  let  Ben 
see  how  you  feel.  He's  going  to  get  well,  that  boy!  Just 
how  I  don't  know  yet,  but  pitying  him  makes  him  a 
thousand  times  worse." 

"  Aunt  Addie  says  that,  too,"  she  admitted  slowly. 
"  She  says:  'Never  think  anything  but  good  for  yourself 
and  the  people  you  love,  no  matter  what's  ailing  them.' 
I'm  trying  to  do  that  about  Michael,  Martin.  Oh  dear, 
it  seems  the  more  you  care  for  a  person,  the  more  you 
worry  about  him." 

"  Anything  wrong  with  Mike?" 

"Mercy  no!"  she  replied  in  swift  contradiction.  "I 
suppose  I'm  a  little  jealous.  No,  I'm  not  when  I  really 
think  about  it.  But  the  way  some  of  the  girls  hang 
around  him  makes  me  disgusted.  I  tell  you,  Barney  sees 
through  their  maneuvers  almost  before  they  start  'em." 

Brewer  puffed  his  cigar  to  a  glowing  end  as  he  studied 
her  bonny  face.  To-day  he  felt  more  deeply  stirred  at 
her  close  proximity  than  ever  before.  How  very  lovely 
she  was!  How  artistically  fashioned,  her  small  hands; 
and  their  movements  tempted  him  to  caress  them,  but 
instead  he  smiled  at  her  and  changed  the  subject. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     21 

"  Like  it  at  Cavendish's,  Paddy?" 

"  Yes,  it's  quite  like  home,"  she  told  him.  "  When  we 
came  in,  we  found  Fatty  Brown,  Billy  and  Milly  Foster 
there.  You  know  they  were  at  Cavendish's  last  winter 
while  we  were  rehearsing,  and  we've  met  them  in  nearly 
every  town  — "  At  this  juncture  she  became  aware 
of  the  incurious  expression  on  her  companion's  face. 
"  Anything  on  your  mind,  Martin?"  she  asked.  "  You're 
not  in  the  least  bit  interested  in  what  I'm  telling  you." 

He  looked  at  her  an  appreciable  time  before  he  agreed. 

"Yes!  I  have  something  on  my  mind.  Seeing  you 
here,  Lady  Pat,  has  brought  me  to  a  show-down.  I 
can't  shoot  fancy  stuff  in  everyday  life,  such  as  I  stick 
in  my  plays,  but  I'm  going  to  give  you  an  earful,  dearie, 
straight  off.  Will  you  marry  me?  Right  away,  Paddy, 
the  sooner,  the  better!" 

So  unexpected  was  his  question  that  it  took  her  quite 
off  her  guard. 

"  Why,  Martin,  you  mustn't  make  love  to  me,"  she 
expostulated,  embarrassed.  "  We're  just  chums,  you  and 
I.  But,  of  course,  I  couldn't — I  couldn't  marry  you !  Of 
course,  I —  Why — you  could  marry — the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world!" 

"  Lord,  Pat,  I  deal  with  women  all  the  time,"  Martin 
protested  vigorously,  "  and  most  of  'em,  if  they  have  any 
chance  at  all,  top  men  head  and  heels,  but  a  fellow  can't 
fall  in  love  with  more  than  one.  Now  with  me,  it's  you, 
my  dear!  I've  loved  you  since  first  I  popped  my  eyes 
on  you,  back  there  before  you  went  on  the  stage.  Why — 
why—" 

"  Martin,"  she  interjected,  a  burning  flush  suffusing 
her  cheeks  and  brow,  "  you  mustn't  think  of  me  like  that. 
I'm  only  your  girl  pal  and  always  will  be!" 

Her  hands  came  together  in  an  appealing  clasp. 

Throwing  away  the  stub  of  his  cigar,  Brewer  rested 


22     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

both  arms  on  the  desk  and  brought  the  tips  of  his  large 
fingers  together,  revolving  one  thumb  over  and  over  the 
other.  When  the  manager  twiddled  his  thumbs,  his 
intimate  friends  knew  he  was  nervous. 

"  Maybe,  it  does  seem  queer  for  a  fellow  like  me  to 
want  to  marry  a  youngster  like  you,"  he  persisted  after 
a  quiet  moment,  "  but  my  spirit  isn't  old  in  spite  of  my 
years,  lambkin.  And,  goodness  me,  Paddy  girl,  I  can't 
see  any  other  woman  and  won't  as  long  as  you're  on  earth. 
You  can  have  me  and  all —  Poor  Kiddie,  have  I  scared 
the  life  almost  out  of  you?  Well,  I  didn't  intend  to  at  all ; 
but  think  about  it — a  while.  You  don't  have  to  say 
1  Yes!  '  bang  off.  The  thought's  kind  of  new—" 

The  knock  that  checked  his  speech  was  a  relief  to 
Patricia.  It  took  an  instant  for  Brewer  to  regain  his 
self-control;  then,  "  Come  in,"  he  called,  and,  "  What  is 
it,  Claude?"  he  asked  of  his  secretary  who  opened  the 
door. 

"  Mrs.  Clark's  here  by  appointment  to  see  you,  sir!" 

Brewer  passed  his  handkerchief  across  his  face. 

"  I  forgot  all  about  her,"  he  mumbled  to  himself.  "  All 
right,  Claude,  ask  her  in,  and  say,  old  man,  I'm  going 
home  after  a  minute,  and  if  anything  important  comes 
up,  give  me  a  ring.  .  .  .  No,  sit  still,  Miss  Pepperday. 
You  don't  have  to  rush;  Mrs.  Clark  won't  keep  me  long, 
and  it's  nothing  of  a  private  nature." 

Womanlike,  Patricia  took  in  at  a  glance  the  distin- 
guished appearance  of  the  stranger  who  swept  into  the 
office.  She  was  very  good  looking  and  smartly  dressed. 
She  had  all  the  earmarks  of  a  society  woman  with  a 
"  mission." 

"  Mrs.  Clark,  Miss  Pepperday,"  introduced  Brewer, 
after  he  had  shaken  hands  with  his  visitor.  "  Do  be 
seated,  Nancy!  How's  Patrick  to-day?" 

"  He's  very  well,"  was  the  response,  "  but  he's  been 


23 

so  busy  lately,  since  he  became  attached  to  the  District 
Attorney's  office,  that  I've  scarcely  had  a  glimpse  of  him." 

"  I  met  your  husband  on  the  street  a  while  ago,"  Martin 
remarked  conversationally.  "  He  looks  as  if  the  world 
were  treating  him  squarely." 

A  fretful  expression  passed  over  Mrs.  Clark's  counte- 
nance. 

.  "  I  left  Alexander  in  bed  with  a  headache,"  she  com- 
mented dryly.  "  He  said  he  wasn't  going  to  leave  the 
house  to-day." 

The  manager  perceived  that  he  had,  as  he  himself 
would  have  described  it,  opened  his  mouth  and  put  his 
foot  in  it. 

"  Perhaps,  he  was  called  out,"  he  offered  as  an  excuse 
to  rectify  his  mistake. 

"  Perhaps!"  with  a  shrug,  "  but  these  men — " 

"  They're  great  brutes,  aren't  they,  Nancy?"  grinned 
Brewer.  "  I  fight  'em  tooth  and  nail,  myself.  I  don't 
see  how  women  stand  'em  around." 

For  years  Nancy  Clark  had  been  acquainted  with  this 
genial  Broadway  idol,  and  she  did  not  approve  of  him 
at  all. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  intrude,  Martin,"  she  observed,  eyeing 
him  with  suspicion,  "  so  I'll  make  haste  to  tell  you  why 
I  came." 

Then  she  glanced  at  Miss  Pepperday,  and  that  young 
person  was  persuaded  that  her  presence  in  the  play- 
wright's office  was  not  looked  upon  with  approbation. 

"  No  intrusion,  Nance,"  exclaimed  Brewer.  "  You 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  Thanks,  but  I  thought  as  long  as  I  had  fixed  an  hour 
to  see  you,  you'd  make  arrangements  not  to  be  busy," 
laying  stress  on  her  words.  "  But  then  its  public  property, 
so  I  might  as  well  speak  out.  Martin,  do  you  know  that 
I'm  president  of  our  'Social  Welfare  League?'  " 


24     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"  Yes,  I  believe  Pat  did  mention  it,"  nodded  Brewer. 

"  My  son  won't  interest  himself  at  all  in  the  most 
vital  questions  of  the  day,  and,  while  I  dislike  to  say  it, 
I  know  the  blame  for  that,  Martin,  lies  at  your  door. 
I  fear  that  you  are  not  at  all  familiar  with  the  aims  of 
our  society,  are  you?" 

"Somewhat!" 

Patricia  scarcely  recognized  the  cold,  monosyllabic  tone. 
If  he  had  spoken  to  her  thus,  she  would  have  shriveled 
into  nothingness,  but,  undaunted,  Mrs.  Clark  proceeded: 

"Well,  to  come  to  the  point  then,  we  wish  you  to  cease 
your  broadcast  distribution  of  money  to  women  who  sin. 
I've  asked  Patrick  to  talk  to  you  about  it,  but  he  told  me 
he  absolutely  approved  of  your  work.  Strange  that  a 
boy  of  mine  should  close  his  eyes  to  loose  morals." 
She  sent  one  hasty  glance  at  the  quiet  girl.  "  I  presume 
it's  his  association  with  stage  people.  .  .  ." 

As  though  in  protestation,  Brewer  lifted  his  hand. 

"  You're  treading  on  my  toes,  Nancy,"  he  said,  "  and 
it  hurts." 

"  I  regret  that  I'm  forced  to  speak  in  such  a  way  to 
a  friend  of  Patrick's,"  she  retorted,  flushing.  ."  But  right's 
right,  and  wrong's  wrong!  You  encourage  crime,  Martin, 
immorality  and  all  kinds  of  evils." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  came  the  swift  denial. 

"  Evidently,  or  you  wouldn't  do  it.  However,  the 
League  sent  me  here  to  ask  you  to  withdraw  that  ridic- 
ulous circular.  .  .  ." 

"  What?  The  (  God  save  'em!'  one?"  queried  Brewer, 
and  he  laughed. 

In  Mrs.  Clark's  estimation  it  was  not  time  for  levity;  so 
she  squared  her  shoulders. 

"  Can't  you  see  that  helping  such  creatures  only  gives 
them  a  chance  to  go  on  and  do  worse,  Martin?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  I  can't  see  it,  my  dear  Nancy,"  asserted  Brewer, 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     25 

without  weighing  the  question,  "  or  any  part  of  it.  No 
woman  is  a  creature,  no  matter  what  she's  done.  And 
the  fact  is  that  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  those  we  help 
are  as  honestly  married  as  you  are.  Now  you  have  chosen 
your  work,  Nance,  and  I  don't  interfere  with  it.  I  might, 
you  know.  I  could  come  out  publicly  against  you,  but 
I  believe  in  minding  my  own  business,  and  I'm  doing  it, 
too." 

Never  had  Patricia  seen  Martin  look  as  he  did  then; 
his  eyes  flashed,  and  she  was  fired  with  pride  by  his  dig- 
nity and  earnestness.  But,  thoroughly  incensed,  Mrs. 
Clark  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Patrick  warned  me  I  would  be  casting  my  pearls," 
she  said  haughtily.  "  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  see  the  day 
you'll  regret  your  connection  with  the  stage  and  the  po- 
sition you've  taken  toward  society." 

"  It  might  just  happen,  Nancy,  dear  woman,"  Brewer 
told  her,  rising,  "  that  sometime  you'll  have  cause  to  be 
glad  with  me.  Good-afternoon!  Come  again  whenever 
you  like. 

"  See  how  I  get  it  on  all  sides,  Lady  Pat,"  he  chuckled, 
as  the  door  closed  on  his  caller.  "  Now,  that's  as  good 
a  woman  as  ever  breathed  the  breath  of  life.  The  only 
trouble  with  her  is,  that  she's  got  the  notion  she's  God 
Almighty's  daughter-in-law.  But  she  can't  tumble  over 
what  I  do,  thank  Heaven! 

"  And  me,  well,  dearie,  people  don't  seem  to  realize 
just  what  a  woman  means  to  this  world.  Why,  in  my 
next  evolution,  I'm  going  to  switch  my  gender,  and  I'll 
have  twenty  children  and  subsidize  myself,  by  ginger!" 


26    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER   IV 

A  SHORT  time  later  the  Brewer  limousine  drew  up  before 
a  house  on  Forty-eighth  Street  between  Fifth  and 
Sixth  avenues.  Brewer  opened  the  door,  stepped  out 
and  helped  Patricia  to  alight. 

"  I'll  be  back  before  you  know  it,"  she  said.  "  I  only 
want  to  speak  to  Michael  a  minute." 

The  manager  climbed  back  into  the  automobile  to  wait, 
as  she  disappeared  into  the  house. 

"  Mrs.  Cavendish,  did  my  father  phone  me  while 
I  was  out?"  Patricia  called  down  the  basement  stairs. 

A  thin  young  girl  with  a  parrot  on  her  shoulder  scuttled 
into  view  from  the  dark  corridor  below. 

"  Any  messages,  Fancy  dear?"  asked  Miss  Pepperday. 

"  Fancy  dear,"  repeated  the  parrot.  "  Aw,  Fan,  is 
breakfast  ready?  Hello,  Fan!" 

"  You're  a  saucy  boy,  George  Cavendish,"  laughed 
Patricia.  "  Here,  George,  here's  candy!  Catch  it!  Why, 
hel  snapped  it  right  out  of  the  air,  Fancy !  Oh,  you  smart 
old  bird!  Did  anyone  telephone  me,  Fannie  child?" 

Fancy  Cavendish  was  a  small,  weak-minded  creature 
with  pale,  expressionless  blue  eyes  and  light  hair  which 
was  combed  back  without  wave  or  ringlet  from  a  brow 
rather  too  high  and  narrow. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Paddy,"  she  replied,  "  your  dad  rung  you 
up,  and  he's  comin'  in  about  dinner  time.  He  said  if 
you'd  put  off  feedin'  till  he  got  here,  he'd  eat  along  with 
you." 

Having  imparted  this,  she  began  to  climb  the  stairs, 
the  parrot  swaying  to  and  fro,  pecking  at  her  face. 

"  George's  awful  bad  to-day,"  she  told  Patricia  as  she 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     27 

squatted  on  the  top  step.  "  Ma's  wished  him  to  the  devil 
four  times  since  mornin'.  Babe  Foster  'phoned  in  for 
her  brother,  too,  but  I  wouldn't  tell  him  about  it,  I 
wouldn't!" 

"  But  that  wasn't  right,  Fancy  dear!  She  might  want 
Billy  to  bring  something  to  the  theater  for  her.  Perhaps, 
she  isn't  coming  home  until  after  the  show." 

"  I  don't  care  if  she  ain't!  Why  should  I  care?" 
harangued  Fancy.  "I  hate  'er!  She's  always  firin' 
George  and  me  out  of  Bill's  room  the  minute  I  stick  my 
nose  inside.  Listen,  while  I  tell  you  something,  Miss 
Paddy.  Bill's  goin'  to  get  married  to  me  some  day, 
maybe,  to-morrow." 

"  Billy's  a  crook,"  croaked  the  bird,  sotto  voice. 

"  George  heard  Ma  say  that,  "  sniffed  Fancy.  "  Ma's 
dirt  mean  when  she  wants  to  be,  which  is  most  of  the 
time,  and  she's  got  it  in  her  bean  Billy  Foster's  a  wicked 
nut,  but  he  ain't,  or  I  wouldn't  marry  'im." 

"  Girlie,  you  shouldn't  say  such  things,"  chided  Patricia. 
"  Mr.  Foster  wouldn't  like  it  if  he  heard  you." 

"  Yes,  he  would,  too,  because  he  has.  He's  asked 
me  to  kiss  'im  many  a  time,  but  George  'd  gouge  his  eyes 
out  if  he  touched  me.  I  know  something  else,  too.  It's 
about  your  Michael!" 

Sudden  interest  lighted  up  Patricia's  face. 

"  Michael?  What  about  Michael,  Fancy?"  she  queried. 
"  Tell  me,  like  a  good  girl." 

A  quick  look  thrown  over  her  shoulder  informed  Fancy 
that  her  mother  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  He  wants  to  get  married  with  Millie  Foster,"  she 
hissed  sibilantly.  "  I  heard  'im  sparkin'  her  when  they 
didn't  know  anyone  was  around.  Another  thing:  Milly 
doesn't  like  Mike  half  as  well  as  she  does  Fatty  Funny 
Breeches.  I  saw  'er  hug  'im  once.  She  loves  Fatty  like 
I  do  Billy." 


28    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

As  she  said  this,  her  pale  blue  eyes  twitched,  and  her 
face  flamed  crimson. 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  talk  about  it,  Fan  dear,"  advised 
Patricia.  "  Don't  you  remember  all  the  nice  things  I 
told  you  when  I  was  here  last?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  'em,  ma'am,"  nodded  Fancy,  "  and 
George  knows  some  of  'em,  too.  Every  night  I  make  'im 
say :  '  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep/  and — and  I  always 
ask  God  to  gimme  Billy!" 

A  harsh  voice,  calling  her  name  from  the  basement,  set 
the  young  speaker  all  a-tremble. 

"  That's  Ma,"  she  ejaculated,  shivering. 

"Aw,  Fan!  Ma's  under  jaw  wags!  Haw,  haw!"  jab- 
bered the  parrot. 

At  that  moment  a  large,  angular  woman  appeared  be- 
low stairs. 

"  Fancy,  bring  that  pesky  blatherskite  down  here.  I'll 
teach  him  to  gibble-gabble  about  my  underjaw.  Didn't 
I  tell  you  not  to  be  chasm'  upstairs  with  'im?" 

With  a  flip  of  her  apron,  Fancy  blindfolded  the  bird. 

"  Keep  your  mouth  shut,  you  idiot,"  she  muttered, 
"  or  I'll  poke  you  one  in  the  face.  .  .  .  He  says  over 
everything  he  hears,  Miss  Paddy.  Sassy  bird!" 

"  Never  mind,  honey!  Run  on  down!  Hurry!  Then 
you  won't  get  a  slap,"  and  Patricia  sped  on  her  way 
upstairs. 

A  seriousness  had  taken  the  curve  from  her  lips  as 
she  opened  her  sitting-room  door.  A  tall,  handsome  boy 
grinned  her  a  greeting. 

"  Glance  at  that,  Pat,"  he  cried  gleefully,  spreading  out 
a  newspaper.  "  There's  your  countenance,  my  princess. 
What  do  you  think  of  it?  Say,  aren't  you  a  beauty, 
though?  Lovely  enough  to  be  on  a  soap  poster,  by 
cracky!" 

An  expression  of  adoration  swept  across  the  girl's  face, 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    29 

and  her  glorious  gray  eyes  seemed  to  devour  the  boy's 
comeliness. 

"Oh,  you  darling,"  she  gurgled,  and  then:  "Now, 
don't  be  foolish,  Michael  dear,  for,  if  I'm  a  beauty,  so 
are  you!  Let  me  see!  Isn't  it  great,  Mike?  It's  the 
biggest  picture  I've  ever  had  published." 

"  '  The  "  Golden  Pepperdays  "  are  in  New  York,'  "  Mi- 
chael began  to  read  aloud  over  her  shoulder  with  great 
gusto.  "  *  Beautiful  Patricia  Pepperday,  with  her  broth- 
ers, Barney  and  Michael  Pepperday,  will  make  her  first 
appearance  in  New  York  before  a  Labor  Day  audience 
at  the  Hypo  Theater  in  a  new  act,  written  by  Martin 
Brewer.  The  Pepperday  brothers  and  sister  are  triplets, 
and  out-of-town  newspapers  have  not  been  sparing  in 
their  praise  of  the  trio.  Miss  Pepperday  plays  the  part  of 
Truth,  and  her  brother,  Michael,  the  role  of  David,  the 
shepherd  boy.  The  act  is  called:  "The  Streams  make 
Glad,"  and  is  said  by  those  who  have  seen  it  to  be  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  Biblical  allegories  ever  written." 

"Some  review,  eh,  sis?"  chuckled  Michael.  "Mart 
touched  the  pulse  of  the  press  to  get  that!  I'm  going 
to  chop  it  out  and  give  it  to  the  Pater  to  take  home  to 
Yum-yum  and  Aunt  Addie.  They'll  burst  with  pride, 
I  bet.  I've  been  sitting  here,  making  love  to  it  for  an 
hour.  You're  some  bright  bird,  my  love,  eh?" 

He  quizzed  her  laughingly,  putting  around  her  one  big 
arm.  For  the  moment  she  lay  against  him,  she  rev- 
eled in  the  size  of  him,  in  the  strength  of  him  and 
in  the  wondrous  love  of  him.  In  her  estimation  he  was 
the  epitome  of  all  manhood's  graces,  and  that  was  why 
she  had  dubbed  him  "  King,"  a  king  with  ebony  curls 
and  eyes  softly  luminous  in  happiness,  but  as  sand-gray 
as  her  own  were  sand-gray  when  anger  burned  within 
him. 

"Honey,  I'm  going  to  drive  uptown  with  Martin  to 


3o    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

see  Benny,"  she  said  presently,  drawing  away.  "  But 
before  I  go,  I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

"  All  right,  Pat!    I'm  all  ears,  like  a  jack  rabbit." 

While  she  was  tucking  a  curl  into  place,  she  studied 
his  impudent,  smiling  countenance. 

"  Mike,  you  know  I  don't  like  to  butt  into  your  busi- 
ness," she  commenced  hesitantly.  "  I  — " 

In  good  nature  Michael  guffawed  her  to  silence. 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  do,  sis,"  he  interjected.  "  Now 
what  have  I  done  to  displease  your  ladyship?  You're  as 
grave  as  a  judge." 

"  Did — did  you  ask  Milly  Foster  to  marry  you,  Mi- 
chael?" 

The  question  related  to  the  only  intimate,  tender  pas- 
sion of  Michael's  life.  His  levity  vanished,  and  his  brow 
contracted  in  a  frown. 

"  About  fifty  times,"  he  confessed  slowly,  "  perhaps, 
more!  But  you  knew  I  loved  her,  Paddy!" 

"  No,  Miky,  I  didn't,"  came  in  quick  contradiction. 
"  I  knew  she  always  managed  to  wheedle  herself  into  our 
parties  on  the  road,  and,  of  course,  I  was  positive  that  she 
was  head  over  heels  in  love  with  you.  That  was  evident 
when  we  were  here  last  winter." 

Boyishly  Michael  marked  out  a  figure  in  the  rug  with 
the  toe  of  his  shoe. 

"  Well,  there's  no  need  for  you  to  worry  about  it, 
Paddy,"  he  grumbled.  "If  I've  asked  her  fifty  times, 
she's  refused  me  as  many.  She  doesn't  give  a  rap  for 
me — not  one  single  rap!  I  had  to  beg  her  almost  on 
my  knees  to  go  to  supper  with  me  to-night." 

The  sister  in  her  righteous  anger  felt  a  sudden  impulse 
to  enlighten  her  brother  with  the  fact  that  Miss  Foster's 
tactics  had  been  learned  in  the  hard  school  of  experience. 
Patricia  knew  that  the  most  willing  woman  was  often 
most  unwilling  to  manifest  her  willingness. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     31 

"  I  hoped  you'd  go  with  Martin  and  me  to  supper," 
was  what  she  said.  "  And  Milly 's  got  her  nerve  with 
her  to  make  you  plead  — "  Then  she  laughed.  "  At 
least  I'm  glad  you're  not  engaged  to  her,  dear.  Things 
might  be  worse!  Be  careful  of  the  fifty-first  time, 
though,  Michael.  Milly's  a  vamp!  .  .  .  There,  dar- 
ling, I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you  or  be  catty.  Give  me  a 
kiss,  and  good-by  until  dinner  time." 

On  the  stairs,  going  down,  Patricia  met  a  smiling, 
obese  youth  who  made  a  funny  grimace  at  her.  She 
burst  out  laughing  as  he  leaned  against  the  wall  and 
allowed  one  lid  to  droop  over  its  dark  eye. 

"  Just  my  luck  to  have  you  going  out  when  I'm  coming 
in,  lady  mine,"  he  remarked,  wrinkling  his  good-natured 
face.  "  I  saw  Brewer  outside.  Does  that  say  he's  wait- 
ing for  you?" 

"  I  guess  it  does,  Arthur,"  she  rejoined.  "  Mercy 
me,  you're  getting  fatter  by  the  minute." 

"  Me  fat's  me  fortune,  me  dear,"  he  stated,  attempting 
to  assume  a  tragic  attitude.  "  Where's  Milly?  Seen 
her?" 

Arthur  Brown,  whose  friends  called  him  "  Fatty  Funny 
Breeches,"  was  the  comedian  in  the  Foster,  Brown  and 
Foster  skit;  and  well  might  the  lad  be  nicknamed 
"  Fatty!"  His  chin  was  repeated  several  times  in  large 
rolls  of  flesh  that  well-nigh  overwhelmed  his  collar. 

"  She's  out,  but  Michael's  in,"  responded  Patricia. 
"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Artie?  You  look  like  a  thunder 
cloud.  It  isn't  becoming — that  pout  and  frown!" 

"  Well,  Pat,  the  truth  is  Mike  isn't  treating  me  square," 
he  growled,  straightening.  "  He  knows  I'm  as  good  as 
engaged  to  Milly,  and  he's  always  butting  in  just  when 
I  don't  want  'im.  He's  monopolized  her  in  every  town 
where  we've  happened  to  play  together,  and  now  he's 
started  in  here.  I  don't  like  it,  and  I  shan't  mind  if  you 


32     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

tell  'im  so.  I'll  crack  his  topknot  some  of  these  days 
if  he  doesn't  take  care." 

"Goodness  me,  don't  do  that,"  uttered  Patricia,  "  you 
might  hurt  him,  but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  would  do,  if  I 
were  you." 

With  what  grace  he  could  muster,  Brown  salaamed 
low. 

"  On  with  your  advice,  little  one,"  he  drawled.  "  You 
know  the  old  saying, '  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  — ' ' 

"  Don't  be  stupid,  Arthur,"  she  interrupted,  laughing. 
"  But,  if  you  really  want  my  advice,  here  it  is:  Kidnap 
Milly  and  marry  her  before  she  knows  what's  happened 
to  her.  That's  the  only  way  you'll  ever  get  her!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    33 


CHAPTER    V 

SOME  three  or  four  years  had  run  their  course  since 
Martin  Brewer  had  erected  a  mansion  on  upper  Fifth 
Avenue.  From  its  corner  stone  to  its  octagonal  tower  the 
dwelling  was  one  of  grandeur.  The  man's  own  tastes 
were  simple,  but  to  make  living  in  the  world  more  enjoy- 
able for  his  son,  Benjamin,  he  would  have  gone  to  utmost 
lengths  or  squandered  any  amount  of  money. 

Running  under  the  observatory  from  east  to  west,  also 
facing  the  north  and  south,  were  the  lad's  apartments. 
There  were  several  small  rooms  and  galleries  which  opened 
into  and  looked  down  upon  a  large  studio,  which  was 
furnished  in  an  artistic,  up-to-date  style.  A  wealth  of 
pictures  hung  on  the  walls,  and  objects  of  art  stood  here 
and  there  among  rare  pieces  of  furniture.  Beautiful 
rugs,  the  choicest  weaves  of  the  Orient,  hushed  every 
footfall.  All  across  one  end  stretched  the  highly  ornate 
pipes  of  a  great  organ. 

As  Patricia  and  Martin  reached  the  last  flight  of  stairs, 
leading  to  the  top  of  the  house,  they  paused.  Benny 
was  playing,  and  they  stood  quietly  until  the  organ 
notes  died  to  silence. 

"  Wasn't  that  gorgeous?"  whispered  the  fond  father 
ecstatically.  "  Now,  wait  just  a  second,  girlie,  and  we'll 
surprise  him.  I  didn't  tell  him  you  were  coming  to-day. 

"  Sonny! "  he  called  softly  as  he  advanced  into  the  room. 

From  the  organ  bench  Benny  slid  to  the  floor.  At  the 
first  glance,  if  only  his  height  had  been  considered,  one 
might  have  imagined  him  no  more  than  fourteen  years 
old;  but  a  full  view  of  him  would  have  dispelled  that 
illusion.  A  tousled-haired  head  in  which  burned  eyes  of 


34    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

startling  beauty,  topped  thin  shoulders  that  sagged  for- 
ward weakly.  Long  ago,  Martin  had  plumbed  the  depth 
of  his  son's  emotional  soul;  at  times  it  was  rich  with 
kindliness,  at  others  moody  with  unhappy  genius.  Endur- 
ance of  great  suffering  had  threaded  his  youthful  counte- 
nance with  fretful  lines  that  reached  to  the  corners  of 
his  mouth. 

As  he  moved  toward  his  father,  his  face  wore  a  sorrow- 
ful, questioning  expression. 

"  I  didn't  expect  you  back  until  dinner  time,  dad,  but 
I'm  glad  you're  here,"  he  said  in  throaty  tones.  "I  can 
hardly  stand  it  alone,  nowadays,  even  though  I  have  my 
organ." 

The  dreary  way  in  which  the  words  were  uttered 
fetched  a  groan  from  the  innermost  depths  of  Martin 
Brewer's  being,  but  he  smiled  bravely  as  his  arms  fell 
across  his  son's  shoulders.  Then  they  sat  down  side  by 
side  on  a  carved  oaken  bench.  Suddenly  the  man 
squared  Benny  around  and  looked  at  him. 

"Ah,"  he  ejaculated,  "you've  been  moping  again! 
Come,  Come!  We  can't  have  that!  .  .  .  Look  who's 
here,  Ben!  " 

At  the  sight  of  the  smiling  Patricia,  stepping  from 
behind  the  velvet  door  hangings,  Benny's  face  underwent 
a  series  of  rapid  transformations.  The  shock  of  seeing 
her  sent  the  blood  from  its  surface;  then  his  heart,  re- 
sponding joyously,  drove  the  red  back  to  burn  his  cheeks 
and  lift  the  brooding  lines  about  his  lips. 

"  Paddy,  Lady  Pat,"  he  glowed.  "  Gee,  but  I'm  glad! 
I  thought — I  thought,  maybe,  you  weren't  coming  to 
see  me." 

"  Ridiculous,  Benny!"  she  laughed.  "  We  struck  town 
only  night  before  last,  and  yesterday  morning,  of  course, 
we  went  to  Balmville.  To-day  so  far  I've  been  busy 
with  rehearsal.  So  you  see  I'm  here  my  first  free  mo- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     35 

ment.  Your  good  daddy  fixed  us  a  turn  at  the  Hypo, 
Benny.  And  you're  coming  to-night  to  give  us  a  fine 
send-off." 

"  Ah,  there's  the  telephone,"  exclaimed  Martin,  spring- 
ing up.  "  I'll  breeze  back  in  a  minute,  kids!  "  and  he 
hurried  out  of  the  room. 

"  Sit  over  here  beside  me,  Paddy,"  entreated  Benny, 
placing  his  fingers  on  the  spot  his  father  had  vacated. 

Quite  at  home,  Patricia  took  the  proffered  seat. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  been  doing  all  the  time  I've 
been  gone,  Ben?"  she  asked. 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of.  I  don't  have  much  to  do 
with  people,  you  see.  I've  had  my  books,  my  pictures, 
my  music  and  my  dreams.  I've  loved  getting  your  letters, 
though.  But — but  I've  been  mighty  lonesome  sometimes, 
Paddy  dear!" 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  Patricia  was  conscious  of  a 
pang  of  sympathy,  but,  remembering  his  father's  warning, 
she  did  not  express  what  was  in  her  mind.  What  splen- 
did opportunities  life  offered  Michael  and  Barney  just 
because  they  were  strong,  vital  and  good-looking! 

"  But  you  really  ought  to  go  out  a  lot,  Benny,"  she 
said,  putting  her  hand  on  his.  "  It  would  do  you  a  heap 
of  good." 

Startled,  he  caught  hold  of  her  arm.  Unknown  to 
any  other  human  being,  Benny  had  set  up  a  shrine  in 
his  heart  for  Patricia  Pepperday,  fixing  her  high  in  his 
holy  of  holies  and  worshipping  her  there  to  the  exclusion 
of  almost  every  other  occupation  and  emotion. 

"  Lady  Pat,"  he  choked,  "  Paddy  dear,  do  you  care 
about  me  at  all?  Do  you  think  you  could —  Could 
you  like  me  a  little?  Will  you  marry  me,  Paddy?" 

Before  she  could  get  her  breath  to  answer,  Martin 
swept  into  the  room,  a  spectacle  of  smiling  satisfaction. 

"  Had  a  fine  chin  over  the  telephone  with  Pat  O'Kel- 


36    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

leron,  Ben,"  he  remarked.  "  He's  running  up  for  dinner. 
He's  in  the  District  Attorney's  office  and  is  the  son  of  that 
Mrs.  Clark  you  met  to-day,  Lady  Pat,  and  a  corking, 
fine  fellow.  ..." 

Then  he  came  to  a  sudden  stop,  conscious,  somehow, 
that  he  was  intruding. 

"  I've  been  asking  Patricia  to  marry  me,"  stated  Benny. 
Then  at  his  own  temerity  hot  blood  dyed  his  skin  but 
fled  away  again,  leaving  it  quite  waxen.  "  You  came 
just  in  time  to  prevent  her  answering  me,  father." 

Patricia  threw  an  imploring  glance  at  the  man  who 
was  standing  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot.  He  swallowed 
several  times  before  he  could  speak,  then  he  said  quietly: 

"  I'll  go  out  again  then,  son!" 

"  No,  no,  Martin,"  Patricia  interposed.  "  Come  over 
here  and  sit  down.  I  want  you  to  talk  to  us." 

Reluctantly  Brewer  crossed  the  room.  He  suddenly 
felt  very  old.  Oh,  to  have  saved  Benny  from  this,  from 
the  heart  agony  he  realized  the  boy  would  endure  !  A 
feeling  of  helplessness  depressed  him;  but  in  obedience 
to  Patricia's  desire,  he  sat  down  and  waited  for  the  next 
development  of  what  seemed  to  him  a  veritable  nightmare. 
It  came  upon  him  like  a  thunder  clap  that  he  had  done 
his  unfortunate  son  a  terrible  wrong  by  reason  of  the  in- 
dulgent care  with  which  he  had  surrounded  him.  The 
lad  was  utterly  unfitted  to  cope  with  disappointments. 
Accustomed  to  having  all  his  wishes  anticipated,  Benny 
was  now  to  be  denied  the  one  thing  upon  which  he  had 
set  his  heart. 

The  silence  had  become  keenly  oppressive  before 
Patricia  ventured  at  length : 

"  I  can't  marry  any  one  now,  Martin.  You  know 
that  !  Benny,  you  see,  I  have  my  little  mother  and  the 
Pater;  and  I  must  stay  with  the  boys  until  they're  both 
well  on  their  feet." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    37 

In  deep  dejection  Brewer  listened.  Was  she  merely 
making  it  easier  for  Benny,  or  did  she  mean  that,  if  she 
had  not  so  many  burdens,  she  would  really  marry  him? 

He  glanced  from  her  to  his  son.  How  white  he  was! 
Benny  and  he  loved  the  same  woman  !  Yes,  only  that 
morning  he  had  told  himself  his  life  would  be  ruined  if 
Patricia  refused  to  spend  it  with  him.  Now,  he  felt 
Benny  must  have  her  at  whatever  cost  to  himself. 

"  If  taking  care  of  your  family's  holding  you  back  from 
marrying  Ben,  Pat,"  he  said,  "  then  don't  let  it.  There's 
enough  Brewer  money  for  all  of  us,  and  Ben  and  I'll  give 
you  this  house  for  your  very  own." 

The  assurance  in  his  tones  dispelled  the  bewilderment 
from  Patricia's  mind. 

"  But  I  don't  want  it,"  she  faltered.     It's  — " 

"  Dad,  she's  got  to  love  me,"  interrupted  Benny  vio- 
lently. "Oh,  she's  got  to!  She  refused  me  because — 
Oh,  God!  because  I'm  as  messed  up  as  hell!  " 

"  Benny,  lad,"  the  father  entreated,  then  he  checked 
himself.  He  had  no  word  of  comfort — no  promise  to  give 
his  afflicted  child. 

"  It  isn't  that  at  all,  Benny,"  choked  Patricia,  rising. 
"  I  just  can't  get  married!  Not  yet!  Oh,  Benny,  for- 
give me!  ...  Martin,  I'm  going  home." 

"  But  I  don't  want  you  to,  Pat,"  protested  Martin. 
"  Come  on  and  stay  to  dinner.  Please  do!  Ben'll  buck 
up  and  not  make  you  sad  any  more.  Won't  you,  son?  I 
asked  Patrick  O'Kelleron  to  dinner  purposely  to  meet 
you,  Patricia." 

How  many  times  afterward  when  life  and  love  and  life's 
and  love's  possibilities  seemed  crushed  beyond  reconstruc- 
tion did  Patricia  wish  she  had  stayed! 

"  But  I  must  go,"  she  insisted.     "  The  Pater's  coming." 

"  All  right,  then,"  assented  Brewer.  "  Ask  Jackson  to 
drive  you  down.  .  .  .  I'm  awful  sorry  about  it,  dearie!  " 


38    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

When  they  were  alone,  Martin  cradled  his  son  in  his 
arms,  crooning  over  him  as  tenderly  as  a  mother  would 
over  an  infant. 

"  Benny,"  he  began  after  a  while,  "  don't  feel  this  way. 
You're  knocking  the  stuff  all  out  of  me.  Your  dad'd  give 
his  life  for  you,  old  dear ! " 

"  But  what  good  would  that  do?"  sobbed  the  boy.  "  I 
only  want  Lady  Pat!  I  want  her  to  love  me  —  to  marry 
me!  You've  got  to  make  her  marry  me,  father.  You 
hear?  You  hear!  " 

The  man  remained  silent  so  long  that  the  lad  lifted  his 
head  and  looked  at  him.  Then  blue  eyes  pierced  the 
depths  of  dark  eyes  for  the  length  of  time  it  took  Brewer 
to  decide  to  bare  his  own  wound  to  lessen  his  son's  pain. 

"  Ben,"  he  hesitated,"  I'll  tell — you — something,  and 
I  hope  it'll  make  you  feel  easier." 

"  Nothing  anybody  could  say'd  help  me,"  wailed  Benny. 

Unheeding  this,  Martin  muttered: 

"I  —  I  asked  Patricia  to  marry  me  to-day  —  myself  — 
dear  boy." 

"  Oh,"  gulped  Benny. 

"  And  she  refused  me  point  blank  without  near  the 
courtesy  she  showed  you,  Ben,"  Martin  imparted  slowly. 
"  She  didn't  even  give  me  any  excuse  whatever.  She 
just  said, '  I  won't,  Martin,'  and  that  was  all.  There,  son, 
there,  there!  Lady  Pat's  so  all-fired  lovely  that  she 
gets  the  heart  of  every  man  who  pipes  her  with  half 
an  eye." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    39 


CHAPTER  VI 

THAT  evening  at  nine  o'clock  Edward  Blake  wended 
his  way  through  the  dark  aisle  of  the  Hypo  Theater,  his 
teeth  on  edge  and  his  spirit  in  an  angry  mood.  He  had 
flung  himself  into  one  of  those  fits  of  temper  that  came 
upon  him  whenever  he  allowed  his  mind  to  dwell  on 
Patricia  Pepperday. 

As  he  took  his  seat,  a  slight  sneer  crossed  his  lips. 
Placards,  which  property  men  were  just  hanging  in  con- 
spicuous positions,  bore  the  announcement: 

THE  GOLDEN  PEPPERDAYS 

IN 

THE  STREAMS  MAKE  GLAD 

BY 

MARTIN  BREWER 

Ridiculous!  Simply  foolhardy  for  a  writer  even  of 
Brewer's  popularity  to  try  and  poke  down  the  throats  of 
pleasure-loving  New  York  his  fanatical,  religious  ideas! 
Blake  conceded  that  religion  was  all  right  between  the 
covers  of  the  Bible,  but  for  vaudeville  —  bah!  It  was 
not  just  to  Patricia,  either,  to  force  her  to  appear  in 
anything  but  the  best. 

While  the  orchestra  played  an  entr'acte  selection,  the 
man  recounted  his  failures  with  her  and  cursed  his  own 
stupidity.  He  might  have  known  he  could  not  buy  a  girl 
of  her  fine  sensibilities.  Too  late  he  had  arrived  at 
the  realization  that  he,  himself,  Edward  Blake,  clever, 
astute  and  brilliant,  had  thrust  into  Madison  Pepperday's 


40    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

hands  the  club  with  which  Patricia  had  thrashed  him 
effectually  out  of  her  life.  She  had  been  ruthless  about  it, 
too,  the  lovely  witch! 

He  sighed  as  he  remembered  how  relentless  she  had 
been  when  he  had  implored  her  to  have  faith  in  his  pro- 
testations of  reform. 

No,  she  considered  the  affair  none  of  hers  when  he 
threatened  to  drink  himself  to  death!  And,  thank  you, 
she  did  not  wish  the  Pater  to  be  under  any  obligations  to 
him.  If  they  happened  to  meet  in  public,  she  delivered 
him  the  haughtiest  of  curt  nods  and  spoke  to  him  only 
when  it  was  absolutely  unavoidable. 

Blake's  attention  was  turned  from  these  bitter  medita- 
tions by  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  revealing  a  setting  in  which 
he  recognized  instantly  Martin  Brewer's  genius.  His 
fury  was  increased  when  he  caught  sight  of  that  gentleman 
and  Madison  Pepperday  in  the  proscenium  box  to  his 
left.  It  added  to  his  dissatisfaction,  too,  on  observing 
that  Madison  appeared  as  though  he  had  never  had  a  care 
in  the  world.  Barbed  with  hate  and  infuriated  at  his  own 
ineptitude,  Blake  turned  his  eyes  back  to  the  stage. 

The  back  drop,  a  masterpiece  in  color,  represented  a 
mountain  in  Judea  over  which  a  river  wound  its  way, 
like  a  broad  band  of  silver.  A  delicate  vapor  rose 
from  it  and  was  drawn  gently  into  the  clouds.  Only 
Martin  Brewer  could  have  invented  the  actuality  of  that 
sky  line  and  edged  those  clouds  with  a  warmth  of  crimson 
as  if  the  sun  were  just  beneath  the  horizon.  A  valley, 
flower-bedecked  and  tree-shaded,  spread  over  the  stage. 
A  half-dozen  sheep  browsed  in  contentment  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain. 

Then  suddenly  the  small  body  of  a  girl  was  tossed  out 
from  the  river's  foam  to  a  bed  of  purple-eyed  violets.  She 
was  clad  in  simple  white.  Blue-black  hair  curled  loosely 
about  her  face,  and  her  dimpled,  bare  feet  were  sparkling 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     41 

with  drops  of  spray.  She  lay  very  still,  her  lovely  face 
peaceful  in  sleep. 

"  God,  but  I've  got  to  have  her,"  groaned  Blake. 

When  Michael  Pepperday,  garbed  as  the  shepherd, 
David,  stepped  out  from  the  shadowy  wings  and  began  his 
song,  Edward  Blake  leaned  forward  and  held  his  breath. 
He  had  not  realized  at  all  the  beauty  of  thje  lad.  Surely 
the  God  of  Israel,  to  whom  the  youthful  herder  sang,  had 
crowned  him,  a  superb  figure,  there  among  the  greens  and 
golds  of  his  sheep  lands. 

David  sang  to  his  hills,  and  he  sang  to  his  river,  until 
Truth  stirred  in  her  sleep.  Then  she  quietly  sat  up  and 
smiled  at  him.  Inspired  by  her  presence  to  high  en- 
deavor, he  recited  with  a  spontaneous  burst  of  melody  the 
mighty  phrases  which  Martin  Brewer  had  gleaned  from 
Holy  Writ. 

As  the  play  advanced,  Blake's  admiration  leaped  to 
meet  the  dignity  of  the  Biblical  allegory.  Who  but  a 
Brewer  would  have  dared  to  stage  it  in  a  music  hall?  Who 
save  Patricia  Pepperday  could  have  created  the  role  of 
God's  eternal  Truth,  and  who  but  Michael  portray  the 
innocence  of  the  mountain-born  child? 

And  Barney  Pepperday,  clad  in  purple  to  his  feet,  made 
a  magnificent  "  Mr.  Worldly  Wise  Man,"  singing  of  the 
decadent  glories  of  the  sensuous  kingdoms  outside! 

Tensely  emotional,  Blake  dropped  his  lids.  The 
Pepperdays  had  scored  along  with  Martin  Brewer! 

When  he  looked  again  at  the  stage,  Barney  was 
triumphantly  silent.  David  was  face-down  on  the  grass, 
and  the  little  figure  of  Truth  was  bending  over  him. 

The  curtain  descended  slowly  amid  a  silence  that 
seemed  to  last  for  minutes.  Then  wild  enthusiasm  from 
the  audience  sent  it  up  again,  to  show  the  shepherd's 
curly  head  held  against  Truth's  breast.  Then,  as  though 
she  would  rear  a  wall  of  harmony  between  him  and  the 


42     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

tempter,  she  began  to  sing:  "  There  is  a  River,  the 
Streams  whereof  shall  make  Glad  the  City  of  God." 

When  Patricia's  voice  ceased,  the  house  rocked  with 
applause. 

Blake  looked  toward  Brewer's  box.  He  knew  by  the 
expressions  of  the  two  men  how  profoundly  stirred  they 
were.  He  caught  sight  of  Benny  Brewer's  tearful,  white 
countenance,  and  exultation  thrilled  him  to  his  toes.  The 
puny  boy  was  the  great  author's  soul-thorn,  the  sting  of 
which  even  Patricia  Pepperday  could  not  ease.  He  was 
glad  of  that — glad,  glad,  glad! 

Yet  he  experienced  the  cutting  pangs  of  jealousy  when 
he  heard,"  Brewer — Martin  Brewer!  "  roared  upwards  to 
the  great  dome.  He  saw  Patricia  trip  forward,  her  hands 
extended  to  the  playwright.  With  jaundiced  eyes  he 
stared  at  her  as  the  man  stepped  from  the  box  to  the  stage. 

Then  Barney  in  his  splendid  purple  array,  boyishly 
smiling,  joined  them,  and  with  one  sweep  Brewer  gathered 
the  Pepperday  triplets  within  his  embrace. 

An  avalanche  of  tribute  rolled  from  the  balcony  over 
Blake's  head  down  through  the  orchestra  circle  and 
thundered  over  the  footlights.  Like  its  snowy  prototype, 
the  noise  died  away  completely. 

Then  into  that  breathless  quiet,  Martin  spoke: 

"  God  love  'em!     God  bless  'em!     God  save  'em!  " 

And  while  the  curtain  was  falling  between  the  stage  and 
the  fervent  people,  Edward  Blake  noticed  the  speaker's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

Hating  himself  and  the  world  in  general,  he  arose  im- 
mediately and  went  out.  In  the  foyer  of  the  theater  he 
paused  to  light  a  cigarette.  Then  he  walked  into  the 
street,  and  on  the  opposite  corner  he  came  face  to  face 
with  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  For  a  moment  they  stood  eye 
to  eye,  chin  to  chin,  neither  one  able  to  boast  an  added 
quarter  of  an  inch  in  height. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    43 

"Hello,  Blake,"  exclaimed  O'Kelleron.  "  Am  I  too 
late  for  Brewer's  Pepperdays?  " 

Edward  blew  out  a  mouthful  of  smoke. 

"  You  are,  Patrick,"  he  responded  with  assumed  ami- 
ability. "  It's  just  over. —  Better  luck  to-morrow,  per- 
haps. They're  on  for  a  long  run  if  their  reception  is  any 
sign.  .  .  .  Come  over  to  the  club  for  a  game  of 
billiards." 

"  I  dined  with  Mart  and  promised  I'd  see  his  star  kids 
tonight,"  remarked  O'Kelleron,  as  they  walked  away  to- 
gether. "  I'm  starting  south  in  the  morning  for  a  couple 
of  weeks.  I  had  an  appointment  which  I  had  to  keep 
before  the  show,  and  the  time  passed  away  before  I  knew 
it.  ...  Were  they  good,  the  Pepperdays?  " 

"  Fine,"  muttered  Blake.  "  There's  never  been  any- 
thing like  'em  at  the  Hypo,  nor  anywhere  else,  I  imagine." 

Then  they  sauntered  in  silence  the  rest  of  the  way  to 
the  Harvard  Club. 

Theater  parties  on  foot  and  in  conveyances  were  home- 
ward bound  when  Edward  Blake  and  Patrick  O'Kelleron 
parted  on  the  street  in  front  of  the  club.  Cocktails, 
numerous  highballs,  even  his  brilliant  playing,  had  not 
succeeded  in  raising  Blake's  spirits.  A  gray-eyed  sprite 
had  hovered  between  him  and  the  billiard  balls.  She  had 
taunted  him  with  inefficiency,  dishonesty  and  all  the 
liabilities  he  knew  were  labeled  against  him.  In  the  end 
she  had  succeeded  in  making  him  lose  to  his  opponent  a 
game  in  which  he  was  considered  a  past  master. 

He  walked  through  Forty-fourth  Street  to  Sixth  Avenue 
in  a  state  of  mind  bordering  on  collapse.  He  hesitated  on 
the  corner,  undecided  whether  to  go  home  or  not.  No, 
he  hated  the  thought  of  his  bachelor  apartments.  Among 
its  elaborate  knickknacks  his  imagination  ran  riot  with 
longing  for  Patricia. 

Mechanically  he  turned  uptown,  only  to  stop  and  stare 


44    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

east  on  Forty-eighth  Street.  There,  almost  in  the  middle 
of  the  block,  Patricia  Pepperday  lived.  To  sleep  at  all 
that  night,  he  must  plead  with  her  for  one  more  chance. 
Without  waiting  for  further  troublous  cogitation,  he 
strode  the  pavement  toward  Fifth  Avenue  with  a  tread 
that  expressed  a  definite  purpose.  When  he  halted  across 
the  road  from  Cavendish's,  he  saw  the  streaks  of  light  that 
filtered  through  the  drawn  curtains  of  a  window  on  the 
second  floor. 

In  less  than  a  minute  he  was  ringing  the  bell.  He  was 
wily  enough  not  to  ask  for  Miss  Pepperday  of  the  drowsy, 
frowning  girl  who  peeped  out  at  him.  He  wanted  to  see 
either  Arthur  Brown  or  William  Foster,  so  he  pretended 
to  Fancy  Cavendish. 

"  Second  floor  front/'  she  squeaked  at  him.  "  Both  of 
'em's  at  home!  "  and,  "  Billy's  a  crook!  "  volunteered  the 
parrot  in  the  girl's  arms. 

Blake  knocked  softly  on  Foster's  door,  and  a  sullen 
voice  growled : 

"  If  you're  good  lookin',  come  in;  if  not,  stay  out!  " 

With  an  unsteady  laugh,  Blake  opened  the  door. 
William  Foster  and  Arthur  Brown  were  sitting  alone  at 
the  table,  and  all  in  a  glance  Blake  took  in  that  the  boys 
were,"  Three  sheets  in  the  wind,  and  the  other  one  flying." 
So  much  the  better,  he  told  himself,  as  he  advanced  into 
the  room. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    45 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  theatrical  world  is  a  world  by  itself.  Like  an 
infant  spoiled  by  fond  parents,  it  turns  night  into  day  and 
most  of  the  day  into  night.  Any  one,  long  in  New  York, 
knows  there  is  no  sleep  where  actors  take  up  their  abode 
until  after  the  small  hours  of  the  morning  wane  into 
larger  figures. 

Clara  Cavendish's  house  on  Forty-eighth  Street  was  no 
exception  to  this  rule. 

On  the  second  floor  front  William  Foster  shared  a  room 
with  Arthur  Brown.  Adjoining  this  was  Millicent 
Foster's  two-room  apartment.  The  Pepperdays  occupied 
the  third  floor,  Barney  and  Michael  together,  while 
Patricia  had  established  herself  directly  over  Miss  Foster. 

The  great  clock  in  the  tower  of  the  Metropolitan  Build- 
ing had  notified  New  York  that  it  was  time  for  even  the 
restless  Tenderloin  to  cease  its  gayeties  by  booming  forth 
the  hour  of  one. 

The  city  was  in  the  last  throes  of  a  strenuous  evening 
when  Patricia  arrived  home,  having  partaken  of  an  after- 
the-show  supper  with  Martin  Brewer.  As  she  entered 
the  house,  she  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  satisfaction, 
mixed  with  a  little  worry. 

At  the  Grand  Cenral  Station  the  Pater  had  whispered 
congratulations  and  endearments  in  her  ear,  and  she  had 
seen  the  train  carry  him  away  to  Yum-yum,  acknowledg- 
ing in  silent  humility  that  she  had  rather  be  worthy  of 
his  dear  benediction  than  the  possessor  of  the  world's 
wealth.  Barney  had  gone  directly  home  from  the  station 
to  rehearse  more  vim  into  his  lines.  Michael  had  trailed 
away  with  Millicent  Foster,  and  Benny,  to  Patricia's 


46    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

consternation,  had  insisted  that  he  was  not  hungry  — 
that  he  was  tired  and  wanted  to  go  home. 

One  flight  up  Patricia  paused  near  William  Foster's 
door.  She  heard  Billy's  peculiar  falsetto  cut  through 
Funny  Breeches'  loud  laugh.  Waiting  only  long  enough 
to  assure  herself  that  Michael  was  not  within,  she  went 
on  up  the  stairs. 

A  distinct  line  appeared  between  her  arched  brows. 
The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  the  fly  in  Miss  Pepper- 
day's  ointment  was  Milly  Foster.  She  might  deceive  an 
innocent,  fine-hearted  fellow  like  Mike  with  her  assumed 
shyness,  but  she  could  not  pull  the  wool  over  another 
girl's  eyes  for  a  minute. 

Sighing,  partly  in  happiness,  partly  because  the  small, 
blonde  dancer  menaced  the  harmony  of  the  Pepperdays, 
Patricia  opened  her  sitting-room  door  and  went  in.  Save 
for  the  glimmer  from  the  night  lamp  in  the  hall,  the  room 
was  dark.  She  switched  on  the  electricity  and  began 
drawing  off  her  gloves. 

A  weak  throaty  sound  from  near  the  window  wheeled 
her  about,  and  she  stood  an  instant  as  if  she  fain  would 
accuse  her  eyes  of  telling  a  falsehood.  Benny  Brewer 
was  crouched  in  an  armchair,  his  long  fingers  locked  about 
his  thin  knees. 

"  My  goodness,  Benny!  "  she  gasped.  "  Why — 
why—" 

Benny  pulled  himself  to  his  feet  and  stood  before  her. 

"  I  had  to  come — to  see  you  alone,  Paddy,"  he  began, 
white  and  agitated.  "I — I — I  came  right  back  here 
after  I  left  you.  Father  said  he  was  coming  home  early. 
So  I  supposed  you  would,  too.  I  commenced  to  think 
you  were  going  to  stay  out  all  night." 

"  But  you  shouldn't  have  come  here  so  late,  dear," 
quivered  Patricia  in  dismay;  "  and  your  father — " 

"  He  won't  find  out  I'm  not  home.    He  never  bothers 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    47 

me  when  he  comes  in,  and  nobody  knows  I'm  up  here  but 
Fancy  Cavendish.  I  gave  her  five  dollars  not  to  tell,  and 
she  swore  she  wouldn't." 

He  began  to  sob  weakly,  begging  her  not  to  send  him 
home  until  he  had  told  her  what  he  had  come  to  say. 

In  a  frantic  desire  to  quiet  him,  she  rushed  forward. 

"  Hush,  Benny,  you  mustn't  cry  like  that,"  she  en- 
treated. "  Wait  a  minute,  and  I'll  run  into  Michael's 
room.  He  won't  mind  getting  out  of  bed,  and  he'll  take 
you  home  in  a  cab." 

But  Benny  was  too  intent  upon  himself  to  notice  the 
anxiety  in  her  tones. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  go  home,"  he  wailed.  "  I  won't 
go  away.  I  don't  want  any  one  but  you,  Paddy.  Oh, 
how  beautiful  you  were  in  '  The  Streams !  '  Please  be 
kind  to  me.  If  you  will,  I'll  promise  not  to  cry  any  more — 
I'll  do  every  blessed  thing  you  ask  me  to  do.  Honestly 
I  will!  " 

Clouding  tears  rose  to  Patricia's  lids.  All  the  mother- 
heart  of  her  went  out  to  this  lachrymosal  tomtit  of  a  boy 
ravaged  with  the  passions  of  a  man.  She  suddenly  for- 
got the  premonitions  that  had  at  first  crowded  upon 
her.  Consequently  she  seated  herself  and  drew  him  to  her 
side. 

"  Benny,"  she  said  with  unwinking  solemnity,  "  now 
you'll  listen  to  Paddy  quietly,  won't  you?  " 

He  sank  to  his  knees  and  laid  his  head  against  her. 

"  Will  I  listen  to  you?  "  he  echoed  feebly.  "  Oh,  your 
voice  is  like  heaven,  Pat  dearest,  sweeter — much  sweeter. 
Let  me  stay  right  here,  my  darling.  I  love  it  down  here 
at  your  feet.  .  .  .  God,  I'm  so  miserable,  so  awfully  un- 
happy! Sometime  I'm  going  to  be  well!  I  could  be 
now  if  you'd  help  me — if  you'd  love  me.  I  want  to  get 
married  to  you  to-night,  Paddy.  I  —  I  want  — : 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Benny,  everybody'll  hear  you  if 


48     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

you  shriek  like  that,"  she  cautioned,  terror-stricken.  "  Of 
course,  you're  going  to  get  well,  dear  boy,  and  I'll  help  you 
all  I  can.  But  don't  talk  any  more  now  about  getting 
married.  When  you  grieve  so,  it  makes  you  worse,  dear. 
Hush — please,  please!  " 

At  her  tender  warning  he  huddled  over  on  the  floor. 

"  I've  made  a  fool  of  myself,  I  know,"  he  winced  in 
shame.  "  But  I  can't  think  of  anything  or  anybody  but 
you,  Paddy.  You're  angelic  enough  to  say  it's  not  be- 
cause I'm  so  infernally  ugly  you  don't  like  me.  It  is, 
though!  But — but — I  thought,  if  I  could  see  you  alone, 
I  could  persuade  you  to  marry  me  now,  and  I  had  some- 
thing to  tell  you  besides.  Patrick  O'Kelleron  was  up 
home  to  dinner  to-night,  and  he  said  he  knows  a  fellow 
that  was  hurt  like  me,  and  he's  well!  Dad  got  the 
doctor's  name,  but,  Paddy,  I  couldn't  stand  an  operation 
unless  you  were  with  me.  I  thought  because  —  be- 
cause I  played  so  well,  maybe,  you'd  forget  how  I  looked 
for  awhile.  ...  I  can  play,  Pat  dear,  I  can!  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  can,  Benny,"  she  upheld  him. 
"  You're  perfectly  magnificent!  I  love  you  when  you 
are  playing!  Now,  there  you  go  again!  What  did  I 
say?  Benny,  if  you'll  stop  crying,  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thing that  will  relieve  you,  I  know.  I'll  sit  right  down 
here  beside  you — see? 

"  There,  now  put  your  tired  head  against  Paddy." 

She  captured  his  ice-cold,  restless  fingers,  those  talented 
hands,  in  hers.  She  began  to  speak  in  low  tones,  and  as 
she  went  on,  Benny's  tears  were  dried.  He  lay  very 
quiet  with  closed  eyes  while  she  told  him  the  illuminating 
truths  taught  her  by  a  blind  mother  who  in  physical 
darkness  radiated  spiritual  light.  She  quieted  his  aching 
nerves  by  gently  smoothing  his  hair  as  she  quoted  up- 
lifting verses  that  came  from  the  subconscious  memories 
of  her  childhood.  She  crooned  to  him,  too: 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    49 

"  Lead  Kindly  Light  amid  the  Encircling  Gloom." 

And  as  she  sang  that  beloved  hymn  with  Benny's  frail 
frame  leaning  against  her,  another  man  with  glistening 
red  hair  smiled  at  her  from  her  storehouse  of  fancies. 
No!  Of  course,  she  would  never  marry! 

"  Lead  thou  me  on,"  fell  softly. 

Benny  was  asleep.  With  the  touch  of  a  fairy  she 
pressed  his  dark  head  against  her  as  she  ceased  singing. 

Then  for  how  long  Patricia  never  knew,  she  golden- 
dreamed  of  that  lofty  figure  in  Blackberry  Lane.  Benny 
stirred  a  little  just  as  she  had  registered  a  vow  to  follow 
in  Aunt  Addie's  footsteps.  When  the  Pepperdays  needed 
her  no  more,  when  she  was  an  old,  old  maid,  she  would 
go  back  to  Balmville,  to  Blackberry.  .  .  ." 

Blinking  his  eyes,  Benny  suddenly  sat  up. 

"  Now,  dear,  you  feel  better,  don't  you?  "  she  queried. 
"  Let  Paddy  get  a  taxi  and  send  you  home,  if  you  don't 
want  Michael." 

Out  of  that  hour,  out  of  that  group  of  early  morning 
minutes,  while  heavening  hope  into  Benny  Brewer's 
withered  being,  there  marched  into  Patricia  Pepperday's 
life  a  desolate  wretchedness  that  comes  to  few.  In 
future  periods  of  retrospection,  her  one  remorseful  cry 
was,  "  Why  didn't  I  go  for  Michael?  "  Instead,  she 
assisted  Benny  to  his  feet  and  helped  him  wash  away  the 
signs  of  his  tears  and  comb  his  tumbled  hair. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Dad'll  say  to  me  if  he  finds  out 
I've  been  here,"  he  said  when  they  stood  ready  for  de- 
parture. 

"  We  won't  tell  him,"  she  answered,  smiling  reassur- 
ingly. "  We  won't  mention  it  to  any  one.  It'll  be  our 
little  secret,  just  our  own  hour.  Will  that  be  nice?  " 


50    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  GOLD  PENCIL  PONIARD!  "  blazed  a  scarehead  across 
the  top  of  an  "  extra  "  that  appeared  on  the  streets  of 
New  York  about  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

"  Mysterious  Killing  in  Actor's  Rooming  House,"  was 
the  subtitle,  and  the  news  article  read: 

"  The  Cavendish  residence  on  Forty-eighth  Street,  a 
well-known  theatrical  rooming  house,  was  thrown  into 
an  uproar  at  an  early  hour  this  morning,  when  the  land- 
lady discovered  Arthur  Brown,  one  of  her  lodgers, 
murdered,  near  the  fire  escape  on  the  second  floor. 

"  The  police  were  immediately  notified  and  took  charge. 
They  are  engaged  in  investigating  what  promises  to  be 
one  of  the  most  unusual  crimes  that  was  ever  committed 
in  this  city. 

"  The  only  lodgers  in  the  house  were  the  slain  man, 
William  Foster  and  his  sister,  Millicent,  all  of  whom  had 
rooms  on  the  second  floor,  and  the  Pepperday  Triplets, 
consisting  of  Barney  and  Michael  Pepperday  and  their 
sister,  Patricia,  who  occupied  the  rooms  on  the  floor 
above. 

"  Brown  was  dressed  for  the  street,  and  his  hat  lay 
on  the  floor  beside  him.  The  body  was  oddly  crumpled 
up  as  though  the  dead  man  had  sunk  to  the  floor  in  a 
heap  and  had  been  left  as  he  had  fallen.  When  an  attempt 
was  made  to  straighten  out  the  corpse,  the  coat  fell  back 
and  disclosed  the  gilt  knob  of  a  metal  lead  pencil  pro- 
truding through  his  silk  shirt  on  the  left  side.  The 
stiletto-like  instrument  had  penetrated  his  heart.  Death 
had  been  instantaneous.  Bleeding  was  internal,  and  there 
is  no  clue  in  the  hall  or  about  the  body  to  show  by  whom 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     51 

or  how  the  fatal  blow  was  struck  —  except  the  pencil 
itself. 

"  There  are,  undoubtedly,  many  thousands  of  such 
pencils  in  use  in  this  city.  It  was  of  the  familiar  type: 
Gold-plated,  a  little  shorter  and  about  the  thickness  of 
an  ordinary  wooden  lead  pencil.  On  the  knob  was  en- 
graved the  monogram  of  Michael  Pepperday.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  it  is  his  pencil.  Pepperday  himself  identi- 
fied it.  It  is  equally  certain  that  it  was  in  his  posses- 
sion last  evening. 

"  Mrs.  Cavendish  was  not  at  home  during  the  night. 
Her  daughter,  Fancy,  seemed  singularly  reticent  and 
obstinate  when  questioned.  From  her  it  was  learned, 
however,  that  the  only  person  outside  the  regular  lodgers 
in  the  house  last  night  was  Edward  Blake,  an  alderman 
of  this  city. 

"  When  interviewed,  Mr.  Blake  said  that  he  went  to 
call  upon  Foster  and  Brown,  who  occupy  a  room  to- 
gether, some  time  after  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  and 
remained  there  until  after  four.  He  found  both  actors 
in,  but  he  had  not  been  there  long  when  Brown  went  out, 
certainly  before  two,  he  thinks.  Besides  William  Foster 
there  were  his  sister,  Millicent,  and  Fancy  Cavendish  in 
the  room  all  the  time  Alderman  Blake  was  there.  None 
of  them  ever  saw  Brown  again,  and  Mr.  Blake  was  horri- 
fied when  told  of  his  death. 

"  Every  one  in  the  house  has  been  examined  and  given 
minute  and  circumstantial  account  of  his  actions  except 
Michael  Pepperday.  He  refuses  to  answer  any  questions 
or  give  any  information  whatever  as  to  where  he  was  or 
what  he  did  after  one  o'clock  this  morning. 

"  It  is  known,  however,  that  he  returned  to  the  Forty- 
eighth  Street  house  about  midnight  with  Millicent  Foster 
and  went  to  her  brother's  room  and  played  cards  with 
Foster  and  Brown  until  about  one.  Mr.  Pepperday  did 


52     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

break  his  silence  enough  to  say  that  he  lent  the  pencil  to 
Brown  to  figure  the  score,  but  it  is  significant  that  a  pencil 
with  a  good  point  was  found  in  Brown's  pocket,  and 
Foster,  the  other  player,  does  not  recall  that  Pepperday's 
pencil  was  used. 

"  Young  Michael  left  before  Blake  came  in  and  while 
Brown  was  still  in  the  room.  Pepperday  was  recognized 
in  a  restaurant  on  Sixth  Avenue  about  half-past  one 
where  he  bought  some  cigarettes. 

"  Barney  Pepperday  reluctantly  admitted  that  his 
brother  did  not  come  to  bed  until  daylight. 

"  There  is  also  abundant  evidence  that  Michael  Pepper- 
day  was  on  unfriendly  terms  with  the  dead  actor. 

"  The  slain  man  was  the  comedian  of  the  troupe  of 
'  Foster,  Brown  and  Foster '  which  has  been  showing 
for  some  time  at  the  Hypo  Theater.  On  account  of  his 
enormous  size  and  laughable  antics,  he  was  nicknamed 
'  Fatty  Funny  Breeches.' 

"  The  Pepperdays  opened  last  night  at  the  Hypo  in  a 
playlet  entitled,  l  The  Streams  Make  Glad/  and  scored  a 
tremendous  hit.  The  play  is  a  biblical  allegory,  a  bril- 
liant production,  written  and  staged  by  that  master  of 
stage-craft,  Martin  Brewer.  The  trio  sang  superbly,  and 
their  beauty  was  remarkable.  Especially  striking  and 
picturesque  was  Michael,  who  created  the  part  of  '  David, 
the  shepherd  boy.' 

"  No  arrest  had  been  made  at  the  hour  of  going  to 
press,  but  one  may  be  expected  soon." 

Some  sixty  hours  after  the  tragedy  found  Michael 
Pepperday  leaving  the  District  Attorney's  Office.  There 
hung  over  his  jaded  features  a  furtiveness  that  ticketed 
him  a  guilty  man  to  the  stealthy  representatives  of  the 
criminal  court  who  dogged  his  every  footstep. 

Cruel,  official  gruelling,  lasting  hours,  had  reduced  him 
to  such  a  state  of  exhaustion  that  he  could  hardly  muster 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     53 

courage  to  plod  into  the  sunshine.  Inscrutable  faces, 
belonging  to  men  who  in  the  last  two  days  had  become 
familiar  figures  in  Forty-eighth  Street,  sprung  from  no- 
where the  instant  he  moved  to  the  pavement.  Assuming 
a  nonchalance  that  did  not  deceive  his  custodians  in  the 
least,  he  paused  deliberately  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 
Then  he  walked  slowly  to  the  subway. 

Pretending  that  he  was  not  troubled  about  his  pur- 
suers, he  mounted  the  Cavendish  steps,  took  out  his  key 
and  unlocked  the  door.  In  his  desire  to  escape  the 
satirical,  watchful  eyes,  he  scuttled  out  of  sight  in  a  rush 
that  only  tacked  to  him  another  label  of  his  culpability. 

He  trudged  wearily  upstairs,  halted  before  Miss 
Foster's  room  and  signified  his  presence  by  three  short 
raps. 

A  small,  blonde  girl  flung  open  the  door  but  cowered 
back  when  she  saw  him. 

"  Come  in,  Mike,"  she  said  with  a  gasp.  "  Billy's 
here!  But  he  was  just  saying  that  he  had  to  run  away." 

The  atmosphere  of  suspicion  which  seemed  to  envelop 
the  whole  house  was  reflected  in  the  greetings  exchanged 
between  the  two  men.  Michael's  attitude,  moreover,  was 
a  trifle  haughty  and  preoccupied,  while  the  other's  was 
sly  and  obsequious. 

William  Foster  was  of  slight  build,  fair  of  face  and 
hair  and  but  a  little  taller  than  his  sister,  and  now  he 
felt  insignificantly  mean  as  he  shifted  his  gaze  from  Pep- 
perday  to  Millicent,  who  stood,  confusedly  twisting  a 
blonde  curl  around  her  finger.  An  almost  imperceptible 
motion  of  her  head  told  him  it  was  time  for  him  to  be 
gone. 

"Well,  I'll  vamoose  now,  sis,"  he  muttered.  "I'll  see 
you  at  dinner." 

He  minced  out  of  the  room,  holding  his  head  as  high 
as  he  could.  On  his  precipitate  flight  down  the  stairs 


54    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

his  rage  grew.  How  dared  Michael  act  so  superior!  All 
the  Pepperdays  behaved  as  though  they  had  been  born 
miles  above  ordinary  mortals.  His  face  waxed  hot  as  he 
thought  of  Patricia.  He  wondered  if  she  would  look 
through  him  the  next  time  he  met  her  as  she  had  the  last. 
He  shivered  at  the  thought.  Well,  no  matter!  Soon  he 
would  dare  ask  her  to  marry  him,  and  she  would  not  laugh 
at  him;  she  would  snap  at  his  proposal.  Before  the 
District  Attorney  finished  with  Michael,  the  Pepperdays 
would  come  down  off  their  high  horses. 

Meantime  Millicent  was  staring  at  her  companion  with 
fear-laden  eyes. 

"  Michael,"  she  said  timorously,  "  oh,  you  told  'em, 
didn't  you?  You're  as  white  as  a  ghost!  What — what 
happened  to-day  to  make  you  look  like  that?  Something 
worse  than  yesterday?  " 

An  apathetic  nod  from  Michael  indicated  how  harrowed 
was  his  soul  as  he  sank  into  a  chair.  To  cover  her 
craven  chicken-heartedness,  Millicent  gathered  up  the 
garment  she  had  been  mending. 

"  I'm  getting  into  deeper  waters  every  minute,  Babe 
dear,"  he  told  her  tonelessly.  "  The  doctors  have  figured 
out  that  Fatty  died  between  one  and  four  o'clock  that 
morning.  Except  for  the  few  minutes  I  was  at  the 
Chink's  for  suey,  you  know  where  I  was.  Don't  hold  me 
to  my  promise,  Baby,  don't!  " 

It  seemed  a  coon's  age  that  she  stitched  and  stitched 
and  stitched  in  silence,  the  needle  making  a  ticking  sound 
each  time  it  caught  the  cloth.  Michael,  watching  her, 
wondered  how  she  could  guide  it  so  accurately  when  the 
whole  world  was  topsy-turvy.  She  did  not  act  as  though 
she  had  heard  a  single  word  he  had  spoken. 

"  You'll  let  me  tell  'em,  Milly,"  he  urged.  "  You  saw 
those  three  men  outside  yesterday?  Well,  they  trailed 
me  downtown  and  back  again  to-day." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     55 

Milly  untangled  a  knot  in  her  thread,  and  in  so  doing, 
she  sighed. 

"  You  imagined  it,  Mike,"  she  expostulated.  "  You're 
nervous,  that's  why." 

"  Righto,  I'm  nervous,  and  I  don't  deny  it,  but  I  can't 
be  bamboozled  into  believing  I'm  blind,  Milly  darling. 
You'll  change  your  testimony,  won't  you,  for  my  sake? 
You  don't  know  how  much  I  need  you  to  stand  by  me." 

Wrinkling  her  brows  thoughtfully,  she  lifted  her  hands 
to  thread  her  needle  anew,  but  her  fingers  trembled  so 
she  suddenly  dropped  them  into  her  lap,  and  then  she 
fixed  her  bright  entreating  gaze  upon  him. 

"  But — why, — Mike — dear, — why?  "  Her  appeal  was 
impelled  by  several  gasping  breaths.  "  There  are  so 
many  reasons  against  our  saying  a  word  about  it.  In  the 
first  place  they  can't  prove  it  on  you  anyway.  You've 
already  sworn  that  you  loaned  your  pencil  to  Fatty.  It's 
too  bad  that  none  of  the  rest  of  us  remember  it,  but  they'll 
take  your  word  for  it." 

Suppressed  sobs,  coming  from  between  the  bobbing 
yellow  curls  on  her  bowed  head,  a  dear  head  he  adored 
to  the  depths  of  his  boyish  heart,  reached  Michael  like 
so  many  sword  thrusts. 

"  Milly  dear,"  he  blurted,  his  lips  trembling. 

"What,  —  honey!  "  she  asked  with  face  still  hidden. 

"  Don't  cry!  "  was  all  Michael  could  think  of  to  say. 

"  But  I  can't  help  it,  Miky.  You  know  I  can't! 
I'd  be  ruined,  sweetheart,  if  —  if  you  told  on  me! 
I  never  could  hold  up  my  head  again,  and  I've  always 
been  so  proud  of  my  good  name.  Then  I'd  be  arrested 
for  swearing  I  was  with  Fannie  and  Billy  and  Eddie 
Blake  until  after  four  o'clock. — But  I  wouldn't  care  about 
that  as  —  as  —  I  would  —  Patricia'd  never  even  look 
at  me  again.  She's  so  awfully  good !  —  Your  f ather'd 
hate  me,  too,  for  being  so  wicked!  Your  dear,  blind 


56    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

mother  wouldn't  have  me  for  her  —  her  daughter.  Oh, 
Michael,  if  I'd  only  been  a  good  girl  —  If  I'd  only 
married  you  in  Baltimore!  " 

Slowly  Michael  rose  to  his  feet.  He  could  not  endure 
any  longer  seeing  this  girl,  whom  he  loved  and  who  loved 
him,  agonize  so.  His  danger  of  arrest,  a  danger  which 
hung  over  him  like  the  sword  of  Damocles,  fled  from  his 
mind.  With  one  bound  he  was  on  his  knees  beside  her, 
but  she  shrank  away,  although  she  allowed  him  to  kiss 
her  hands  passionately. 

"  I'm  so  ashamed,"  she  moaned,  "  so  horribly  ashamed, 
my  shepherd,  David.  You  must  go  away  now.  I'm 
going  —  downtown  and  —  and  tell  'em.  —  After  that 
you'd  never  marry  a  girl  whose  reputation — " 

She  fell  forward  against  him  in  convulsive  weeping. 

"  I  never  knew  how  much  I  loved  you,  boy,  —  till  —  till 
now!  " 

Michael  snatched  her  into  his  arms. 

"  Dear  little  girl,"  he  articulated  brokenly.  "  Oh,  my 
sweet,  how  precious  you  are!  You  shan't  say  one  word 
about  that — that — night,"  he  kissed  her  again  and  again, 
"  and  neither  will  I.  See,  darling,  how  happy  I  am! 
You're  mine,  all  mine!  And  I'm  all  yours!  — My  baby 
mustn't  cry  any  more! — Now,  smile  while  I  tell  you 
something." 

She  peeped  up  at  him  shyly,  her  lips  curling  upward 
a  trifle. 

"  I  love  you  so  much,"  he  stated  in  sharp  emotion, 
"  that — that  before  I'd  tell  anything  you  didn't  want  me 
to,  I'd  let  'em  tear  me  to  pieces,  inch  by  inch.  —  As  long 
as  you  love  me,  nothing  else  matters." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     57 


CHAPTER  IX 

ABOUT  ten  days  subsequent  to  the  killing  of  Arthur 
Brown,  William  Foster  picked  his  way  gingerly  along 
Forty-second  Street  through  a  drizzling,  cold  rain.  He 
detested  wetting  his  shoes.  A  cat,  crossing  a  muddy 
road,  could  not  have  trod  more  daintily  than  he,  and  his 
dapper  neatness  was  a  protest  against  the  dirty  inclem- 
ency of  the  weather.  If  his  errand  had  not  been  of  the 
utmost  importance,  he  never  would  have  ventured  out 
on  such  a  day. 

The  thought  that,  perhaps,  in  a  short  time  he  would  be 
so  well  fixed  that  he  would  be  able  to  summon  a  taxi,  or, 
possibly,  buy  a  car,  made  him  discharge  a  low,  delighted 
whistle.  Yet,  underneath  his  superficial  sparkle  and  im- 
maculate appearance,  there  surged  a  confusion  of  con- 
flicting hopes  and  fears. 

That  morning  Martin  Brewer's  curt  telephone  message 
in  answer  to  a  letter  he  had  written  him  had  jolted  the 
young  man's  self-importance  to  a  positive  degree. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that,  Babe?"  he  had 
sniffed  at  Milly.  " He'll  see  me — me — '  for  five  minutes! ' 
Five  minutes !  I  bet  he  gives  me  more  than  five  minutes 
to-day,  and  after  this  he'll  greet  me  like  a  long-lost 
brother.  I'll  throw  him  a  mouthful  of  words  that'll  stick 
in  his  crop  for  many  a  year.  —  I  tell  you  our  fortune's 
made,  my  dear  girl !  " 

"Go  to  it,  my  love,  but  be  careful  how  you  handle 
Brewer,"  Milly  had  cautioned  sweetly. 

Foster  was  ushered  into  Brewer's  private  office  the 
moment  he  presented  his  card,  but  an  uncomfortable 
flush  crimsoned  his  face  as  he  met  Martin's  probing  blue 


58    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

eyes.  He  felt  he  was  being  analyzed  molecule  by 
molecule. 

"What's  up?  "  said  the  playwright  brusquely.  "I'm 
almighty  busy  to-day." 

Not  having  received  an  invitation  to  be  seated,  the 
actor  sagged  against  the  table.  He  almost  wished  he 
had  not  come. 

"  What's  the  rumpus,  Bill?  "  reiterated  Brewer. 

To  screen  his  confusion,  Foster  took  from  his  pocket 
a  lilac-bordered  handkerchief  which  he  flirted  across  his 
face.  Drops  of  water  were  oozing  from  his  pores,  and  he 
experienced  the  sensation  of  smothering.  The  other  man 
sniffed  his  disgust  as  an  abominable  odor  of  cheap  per- 
fume was  wafted  to  his  outraged  nostrils. 

"I  should  have  seen  you  before  this,  Mr.  Brewer," 
began  Foster. 

"  Well,  as  you  were  in  New  York,  and  I  was  in  Chicago, 
you  couldn't  very  well  see  me,  could  you?  That's  a  fact 
you  can't  get  around.  I  just  got  back  this  morning. — 
What  do  you  want?  " 

Running  the  tips  of  his  delicate  fingers  along  the  edge 
of  his  collar  to  separate  it  from  his  damp  neck,  Foster 
considered  how  best  to  open  his  attack. 

"Mike  Pepperday's  been  arrested,"  he  began  again, 
"  and  his  sister  — " 

"Well,  I  know  all  about  that.  That  isn't  your  business 
here.  What  is  it?  " 

"Did  Benny — "  the  little  man  moistened  his  parched 
lips.  "Did  Benny,"  he  repeated,  "tell  you  where  he 
was  the  night  Fatty  Brown  was  killed?  " 

So  unexpected  was  this  question  that  Brewer  started  to 
rise,  then  sat  down  again;  but  not  for  a  moment  did  he 
lower  his  piercing  glare  from  the  almost  unnerved  actor. 

"He  didn't  need  to  tell  me;  he  was  home,"  he  vocifer- 
ated. "He  was  home — in  bed!  " 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     59 

Ah,  thought  Foster,  my  guess  was  pretty  straight! 

"You  saw  him  there?"  he  asked  significantly. 

"No,  but— but  I  know  it!" 

The  speaker's  lips  closed  on  the  last  word  in  a  straight, 
hard  line.  He  so  detested  Foster  and  men  like  him  that 
he  was  tempted  to  kick  him  out  of  his  office  without 
further  ceremony. 

But  now  the  ice  was  broken,  William  Foster  relieved 
his  tense  muscles  by  leaning  over  the  table.  He  looked 
directly  into  the  manager's  face. 

"  Well,  —  he  —  wasn't  home,"  he  declared  with  em- 
phasis. "He — he  was  at  Cavendish's.  I  saw  him  there 
after  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

Brewer  suddenly  stiffened  into  an  iron  rigidity.  The 
implacable  blue  challenge  he  sent  the  other  across  the 
distance  between  them  lost  its  sting  on  the  way.  Billy 
knew  whereof  he  spoke;  and  Martin  Brewer  did  not. 

"What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Foster;  fasten  this  thing 
on  Benny?  "  Martin  blared,  tallow- white. 

"  No,  I'm  not;  of  course,  I'm  not,"  he  hastened  to 
answer,  locking  and  interlocking  his  nicely  manicured 
fingers.  "Not  if  he  isn't  mixed  up  in  it  in  any  way! 
That's  what  I  came  to  find  out." 

"  Sit  down,"  growled  Brewer. 

Carefully  pulling  his  trousers  far  up  from  his  silk-clad 
ankles,  the  actor  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"I  came  along  to  have  a  talk  with  you  before  saying 
anything  about  it  to  any  one  else,"  he  announced  in  evi- 
dent relief.  "It  doesn't  seem  right  to  me  that  Michael 
Pepperday  should  be  blamed  for  a  murder  he  didn't 
commit.  Everybody  that  was  in  the  house  that  night's 
been  questioned  by  the  police  but  Benny,  and  I  thought 
if  you  knew  he  was  there,  you'd  make  him  come  forward 
and  own  up  what  he  knows  about  it.  Ben  hated  Funny 
Breeches  like  a  hell  cat." 


60    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

That  was  true!  Brewer  had  long  known  of  his  son's 
antipathy  for  the  fat  comedian.  He  remembered  that 
once  on  preparing  a  list  of  theatrical  guests  for  an  occa- 
sion of  festivities  at  his  home,  he  had  included  Arthur 
Brown  among  those  to  be  invited.  He  could  hear  Benny's 
voice  ringing  in  his  ears,  now.  "  I  won't  have  Funny 
Breeches  here,  dad!  I  hate  him!"  Probing  for  the 
reason,  he  had  obtained  Benny's  explanation.  "He 
teases  me  every  chance  he  gets.  I  can't  help  it  because 
I'm  sick,  can  I?" 

Had  Benny  put  an  end  to  Brown's  jokes  by  putting  an 
end  to  the  joker? 

In  the  next  few  dots  of  time,  it  seemed  to  Martin  that 
his  life  blood  seeped  out,  drop  by  drop.  He  breathed 
audibly  and  with  effort.  He  recognized  in  the  man  before 
him  an  actor  of  the  blackmailing  type.  The  rat  wanted 
something!  What  was  it? 

"  You  say  you  saw  Ben  in  the  Cavendish  house?  "  he 
demanded  heavily. 

Quick  comprehension  was  one  of  Foster's  few  virtues. 
He  concealed  the  exultation  that  welled  up  in  him  when  he 
told  himself  that  he  had  bayoneted  the  one  raw  spot  in 
the  playwright's  make-up. 

"I  sure  did,"  he  nodded. 

"And  you're  giving  me  the  chance  to  tell  the  police 
myself!  Is  that  it?  Why  haven't  you?  How  am  I  to 
understand  this  thing,  Foster?" 

"If  I'd  been  going  to  do  it,  I  wouldn't  be  here  now, 
would  I?  You  got  brains  enough  to  know  that!  " 

"Who  saw  Ben  there  besides  you?"  asked  Martin. 

"No  one  that  I  know  of.  At  least  it  wasn't  mentioned 
at  any  of  the  hearings." 

"Does  Ben  know  you  saw  him?  " 

"No,  he  doesn't,  nor  anybody  else,  either!  " 

From  Forty-second  Street  shifted  up  a  din,  audible 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     61 

through  the  closed  windows.  Trucks  rumbled,  and  auto 
horns  honked.  Trolleys  clanked  and  clattered  on  their 
noisy  way.  Underneath  it  all  ran  the  low,  persistent 
hum  of  the  city,  the  conglomeration  of  all  the  noises  made 
by  human  creatures  intent  on  the  sordid  business  of  grub- 
bing up  a  living. 

Brewer  longed  for  a  lull  in  the  racket  to  straighten  out 
his  disordered  thoughts. 

"Come  back  to-morrow  at  twelve,  Foster,"  he  said 
finally.  "I'll  see  Ben  first  before  telling  you  what  I'll 
do. — Can  I  rely  on  you  not  to  say  anything  to  any  one 
about  it  in  the  meantime?" 

There  was  a  significant  directness  in  the  speaker's 
words  that  popped  Foster  to  his  feet.  Only  too  willingly 
he  gave  his  word  to  be  silent,  suavely,  almost  obsequi- 
ously. Then  he  vanished  from  Brewer's  sight,  leaving  him 
staring  at  the  closed  door. 


62     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  X 

SIXTY  times  had  the  minute  hand  hitched  forward  on 
his  watch  dial,  and  yet  Martin  Brewer  sat  hunched  over 
his  work  table.  The  cornerstone  had  suddenly  crumbled 
from  beneath  his  temple  of  faith.  Life  and  life's  aspect 
had  changed  while  the  sun  was  moving  from  twelve 
o'clock  to  one.  He  had  made  an  appointment  by  wire 
from  Chicago  with  Patricia,  and  for  no  other  person  save 
her  would  he  have  waited  that  interminable  hour  follow- 
ing Foster's  call.  He  was  heartsick  to  rush  to  Benny, 
yet  strung  to  the  snapping  point  of  sympathy  for  the 
Pepperdays.  He  glanced  at  the  clock.  Three  minutes 
past  one!  She  would  be  here  any  minute  now.  Could 
he  look  into  her  truthful  gray  eyes  and  not  pour  into  her 
ear  the  story  the  impish  actor  had  told  him?  He 
shuddered  back  into  his  chair. 

Benny!  Now,  what  on  earth  had  called  Benny  to 
Cavendish's?  Patricia,  of  course!  He  would  ask  her. 

The  sharp  ring  of  the  telephone  brought  the  cold  sweat 
to  his  brow.  He  snatched  off  the  receiver. 

"Miss  Pepperday  calling,"  was  announced  in  his  ear. 
"Show  her  in  instantly,"  he  answered. 

Then  he  stood  up,  corpse-white,  pulled  down  his  vest 
and  was  still  standing  erect  when  the  door  opened.  A 
figure,  heavily  veiled,  swept  in  and  banged  the  door 
shut  before  the  dignified  secretary  had  time  to  think 
about  it. 

For  a  moment  Martin  stared  at  the  newcomer.  She 
was  not  Patricia.  Yet,  there  was  a  certain  familiarity 
about  her!  The  same  faint  perfume  of  violets  that 
always  came  along  with  Lady  Pat  forced  him  around  the 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     63 

table.  When  she  tossed  back  her  veil,  there  was  re- 
vealed a  pale  face  out  of  which  burned  a  pair  of  Pepper- 
day  gray  eyes. 

"  I'm  Michael's  Aunt  Addie,  Mr.  Brewer,"  she  faltered 
scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

"But  Patricia,"  exclaimed  Martin,  and  then  he  remem- 
bered his  manners. 

"Sit  down,  do,  Miss  Pepperday,  in  this  chair.  You're 
quite  out  of  breath." 

No  wonder  Adelina  was  out  of  breath!  She  had  liter- 
ally raced  from  Forty-eighth  Street  to  the  Candler  Build- 
ing. 

"Paddy's — dreadfully — sick,"  she  panted,  swallowing 
after  each  word.  "She's  been  taken  to  the  hospital — 
Roosevelt.  She — she  kept  saying  you'd  help  us,  so  I — I 
came  — " 

Ah,  surely  then,  as  she  bowed  her  head  and  wept,  did 
she  resemble  Patricia!  Like  her  niece,  she  was  one  of 
those  small  women  to  whose  grief  the  heart  of  a  large, 
fatherly  man,  like  Martin,  responds  without  reservation. 
She  so  called  upon  his  compassion  that  he  almost  blurted 
out  that  Michael  was  not  the  murderer,  that,  perhaps, — 
But  he  bit  back  the  words.  It  was  only  a  "perhaps" 
after  all,  so  far  as  Benny  was  concerned. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,  Miss  Pepperday," 
he  said.  "  I  hustled  home  the  moment  my  secretary  wired 
me  about  Michael. — I'm  very  glad  you  came  to  see  me! 
Now  tell  me  what  I  can  do.  Anything!  I  —  I  don't 
know  what  to  say." 

"  Say  you  know  Michael  didn't  do  it,  Mr.  Brewer," 
she  appealed,  swaying  dizzily.  "My  Miky  wouldn't 
murder  anybody!  You  know  he  couldn't!  Everybody 
knows  it!  " 

In  the  years  he  had  been  on  Broadway,  Brewer  had 
faced  many  unusual  situations.  But  here  was  one  that 


64    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

stirred  him  beyond  his  own  comprehension.  Youth  had 
always  drawn  him.  To  the  sorrows  of  youth  he  had  lent 
a  wide  charity.  But  there  was  some  element  in  the 
pleading  of  the  "  Golden  Pepperdays'  "  Aunt  Addie,  of 
whom  he  had  heard  time  and  again,  that  set  his  pity  in 
motion  unaccountably.  His  one  desire,  that  now  sur- 
mounted all  others,  was  to  soften  her  hurt.  He  was 
tempted  to  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  but  instead  he 
coughed,  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  as  close  to  her  as 
propriety  would  allow. 

"Now  let's  talk  it  over  quietly,  Miss  Pepperday,"  he 
begged. 

"  I  can't.  I  can't,"  she  wailed.  "  My  baby  boy's 
in  the  Tombs !  He's  always  been  my  baby,  Michael  has. 
I  —  I  chose  him  out  —  out  of  the  three.  It  was  awful 
the  way  the  officers  snatched  him  right  out  of  his  bed! 
Think  of  that!  Think  of  that!  ." 

She  lifted  a  face  so  distorted  with  anguish  that  Brewer 
for  a  moment  was  almost  beside  himself. 

"  Your  brother,"  he  began  hoarsely. 

"  Madison  and  I  came  down  the  minute  Barney 
telephoned  us,"  she  interrupted.  "How  hard-hearted 
those  detectives  were,  harder  hearted  than  I  ever  knew 
men  could  be.  They  were  so  cruel  to  Patricia  when  they 
took  Michael  away.  What  less  could  they  expect  but 
that  the  poor  child  would  fight  against  their  arresting  that 
innocent  boy?  Then —  Oh,  Mr.  Brewer,  Barney  says 
she  went  quite  out  of  her  mind.  There  was  a  terrible 
scene  at  that  dreadful  Cavendish  house.  She's  so  ill 
that  —  that  —  maybe,  she'll  die!  " 

Evidently  this  aspect  of  the  situation  had  not  occurred 
to  Aunt  Addie  before,  for  she  grew  rigid  in  body,  her 
countenance  portraying  an  anxiety  that  hurtled  its  way 
to  Brewer. 

"  Please,  little  woman,  don't  say  that,"  he  prayed 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     65 

huskily.  "  She's  too  young  —  too  lovely  —  too  —  We 
won't  let  such  a  thought  come  into  our  minds.  Shake 
hands  on  that!  " 

She  thrust  out  her  fingers,  shaped  and  nailed  like 
Patricia's,  and  Martin's  large  hand  covered  them.  In 
spite  of  his  own  torture,  he  was  endeavoring  to  put  some 
courage  into  Adelina's  torn  soul,  and  by  the  way  the 
wrinkles  were  spreading  out  of  her  face,  he  imagined  he 
was  succeeding. 

"Now,  start  at  the  beginning,  and  tell  me  all  about 
it,"  he  urged  in  gentle  insistence.  "It'll  ease  you  a  lot, 
and  I'm  always  right  here,  —  Aunt  Addie,  —  always  right 
here  for  all  the  Pepperdays." 

She  was  staring  at  him,  her  eyes  widening  question- 
ingly. 

"I  wondered  if  you'd  go  down  to  the  Tombs  and  see 
Michael,"  she  shivered.  "We've  all  talked  to  him,  but — 
but — he  won't  say  a  word  that'll  help  him  at  all."  She 
choked,  and  Martin  fondled  the  hand  he  held. 

"Yes,  Aunt  Addie,  yes?"  he  prompted  her  brokenly. 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  she  stumbled  on.  "My  boy 
wouldn't  even  tell  me  where  he  was  that  night.  Barney 
says  that  Patricia  insisted  he  was  with  that  Miss  Foster, 
but  the  girl  says  he  wasn't,  and  so  does  her  brother.  The 
two  of  them  swear  that  Mike  only  played  cards  in  Mr. 
Foster's  room  a  little  while,  and  then  he  went  away. 
Edward  Blake  was  there,  too.  He's  a  wicked  man! 
None  of  them  saw  Mr.  Brown  alive  after  he  left  the  room. 
At  least,  that's  what  they  took  their  oaths  to." 

"Didn't  Mike  go  to  bed? "  ventured  Brewer. 

To  use  her  handkerchief,  Adelina  reclaimed  her  hand. 

"  Barney  says  not,"  she  answered.  "  Mr.  Brewer, 
the  child  had  to  tell  it!  They  made  him!  He  says 
Patricia  was  going  to  ask  you  about  a  man  you  know  in 
the  District  Attorney's  Office." 


66    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Finally,  "Patrick  O'Kelleron's  there,"  he  admitted 
reluctantly. 

" O'Kelleron,"  she  repeated.  "Yes,  yes,  I  remember 
now.  I  thought — I  mean  Patricia  told  Barney  when  the 
lawyers  were  trying  to  make  Mike  confess,  that,  perhaps, 
when  you  came  home,  you'd  ask  Mr.  O'Kelleron  to  do 
something  —  something  for  us.  Couldn't  I  talk  to  him? 
I  could  make  him  see  right  off  that  Michael's  innocent. 
He's  a  good  friend  of  yours,  isn't  he?  " 

While  Brewer  restlessly  smoothed  his  furrowed  brow 
the  image  of  another  boy,  his  Benny,  changed  places  with 
the  King  of  the  Pepperdays.  The  picture  of  the  power- 
ful, red-haired  O'Kelleron  standing  over  his  invalid  son 
fastened  itself  sickeningly  on  his  mind. 

"Yes,  he  is!  He  sure  is,"  he  said  in  desperation,  "and 
I'll  speak  to  him  myself  if  you  want  me  to.  I  think  it 
would  be  wiser  for  me  to  do  it.  It  might  not  do  any 
good,  but,  of  course,  I'll  try.  Anyhow,  we'll  get  good 
counsel  for  Mike.  Even  if  they  try  him,  they  won't  find 
him  guilty." 

"  But  appearances  are  so  against  him,"  mourned  Aunt 
Addie  in  a  far-off  tone.  "I  hear  he  and  Mr.  Brown 
weren't — weren't  good  friends.  If  that's  true,  the 
trouble  wasn't  started  by  my  boy,  and  no  one  can  make 
me  believe  it  was.  That  pencil  —  the  dreadful  little 
gold  thing!"  Then  her  faltering  accents  ceased  in  a  spell 
of  lamentation.  When  she  was  able,  she  began  where 
she  had  left  off:  "Michael  loved  it,  that  pencil!  I  — 
I — bought  it  for  him  out  of  my  butter  and  egg  money. 
Oh,  if  I  hadn't!  If  I  only  hadn't!  He  says  he  loaned 
it  to  Mr.  Brown,  but  nobody  believes  him  but — but  us." 

"How  about  his  mother?  Does  she  know?"  asked 
Martin. 

"No,  she  doesn't,  and  it  won't  be  easy  to  keep  it 
from  Charlotte,  even  if  she  is  blind.  She  hasn't  been 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    67 

so  well  lately,  and  the  doctor  forbade  Madison  telling 
her  —  this.  Mr.  Brewer,  won't  you  go  down  to  the 
Tombs?  We'll  have  him  out  in  a  jiffy  if  he'll  —  Tell 
him  we'll  all  die!  Tell  him —  Oh,  tell  him  anything  to 
open  his  mouth.  Perhaps,  he'll  talk  to  you." 

As  she  rose  to  her  feet,  a  wave  of  nauseating  fear 
rushed  over  Brewer.  If  Michael  Pepperday  had  not 
killed  Fatty  Brown,  who  had?  Was  it  Benny?  As  much 
to  divert  his  mind  from  his  son's  danger  as  anything,  he 
said,  rising: 

"Listen,  Aunt  Addie!  I'll  try  and  see  Pat  O'Kelleron. 
He's  out  of  town  now,  but  I'll  nail  him  the  minute  he 
gets  back.  Then  I'll  let  you  know  what  he  says.  .  .  . 
Yes,  I'll  'phone  you  at  Balmville,  and  I'll  drive  down 
and  see  Mike  some  time  this  afternoon." 


CHAPTER  XI 

LIKE  a  jack-in-the-box,  Benny  Brewer  was  curled  up 
before  an  open  window  in  Tiis  studio.  He  looked  out  over 
the  bleak  roofs,  then  stared  down  upon  the  shining  pave- 
ments below  him.  It  was  shivering  cold,  but  he  did  not 
care  about  that  in  the  least.  He  was  trying  to  gather 
courage  to  fall  out  and  forget.  In  his  hand  he  held 
some  tattered  pieces  of  paper,  the  contents  of  which  he 
had  learned  by  heart,  words  that  stuck  in  his  throat  like 
fish  bones  when  he  tried  to  pronounce  them  aloud,  words 
that  had  been  written  by  the  one  man  he  loved  and 
trusted. 

His  father  had  deceived  him;  the  letters  were  proof 
of  that! 

When  Brewer  softly  opened  the  door,  Benny  was  still 
there.  The  lad  gave  him  one  soul-dissecting  look  and 
turned  back  to  the  window. 

"Benny,"  Martin  hazarded,  "Benny,  dear  boy,  the 
train  was  late,  and  I  had  to  go  to  the  office  before  coming 
home.  What — what's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing!     Go  away!     Go  now!  " 

"Look  at  me!" 

The  low,  commanding  voice  brought  Benny's  head 
around,  but  instantly  his  gaze  was  again  intent  on  the 
sky  line. 

"God!"  muttered  Brewer  between  his  teeth.  "Son," 
he  burst  out,  "were  you  at  Cavendish's  the  night  Fatty 
Funny  Breeches  was  murdered?" 

Benny  cowered  as  if  from  a  blow. 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  he  snarled,  his  face  the  color  of  wood 
ashes.  "It's  none  of  your  business." 


No  further  corroboration  of  Billy  Foster's  story  was 
necessary.  Martin's  vivid  imagination  added  dreadful 
details  to  the  picture  that  had  begun  to  shape  itself  darkly 
in  his  mind  at  noon  time.  He  frowned  and  set  his  teeth. 
The  law  should  not  lay  its  heavy  hand  upon  his  son.  He 
would  fight  the  boy's  enemies  to  the  last  ditch. 

"Well,  if  you  were  there,"  he  faltered,  slumping  down 
into  a  chair,  "I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Their  eyes  sparred  a  moment  in  silence.  Then  the 
lad  laughed,  a  weird  laugh  that  was  more  like  a  scream 
than  any  other  sound. 

" Tell  you? "  he  cried,  swaying  his  body  forward.  "I'll 
cut  my  tongue  out  first!  Go  away,  and  never  come  back! 
You'd  like  to  find  something  to  give  me  hell  for,  wouldn't 
you?" 

A  premonition  of  impending  evil  assailed  Brewer.  The 
very  roots  of  his  hair  quivered  and  tightened  as  if  a 
powerful  hand  were  tugging  at  his  scalp. 

"  Benny  boy,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Child !  What  do  you 
mean  by  that?  Have  you  seen  in  the  papers  that 
Michael  Pepperday  has  been  arrested  for  —  for  murder?  " 

If  Benny  had  not  kept  his  face  to  the  window,  Martin 
would  have  noticed  his  speechless,  shocked  surprise. 
However,  the  expression  changed  instantly  to  morose- 
ness,  for  after  all  the  lad's  interest  was  limited  to 
Michael's  sister. 

"Have  you  seen  Paddy  to-day?"  he  growled. 

Martin  had  just  decided  he  would  not  speak  of 
Patricia's  illness. 

"No — no,  I  haven't,"  he  said. 

A  small  ease  crept  about  Benny's  aching  heart.  Then 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  letter  he  held.  The  wrong  he 
thought  his  father  had  done  obliterated  every  considera- 
tion external  to  himself. 

As  he  glanced  at  Martin,  the  man  ejaculated  a  word 


70    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

under  his  breath.  The  ghastly  experience  at  Cavendish's 
had  changed  his  son  from  a  soulful  human  being  to  a 
surly  animal. 

"  Benny,"  he  implored,  "  son  dear!  " 

"Don't  'Son  dear! '  me,"  said  Benny  sharply.  "I  tell 
you  I  know  now  that  you  are  a  hypocrite!  And  I've 
always  trusted  you,  always  believed  every  word  you 
said! — Some  joke!  So  funny  I  have  to  laugh!  "  and  a 
hysterical  cackle  dammed  the  torrent  of  his  speech  until 
it  overflowed  in  a  new  outburst.  "While  you  were  away, 
I  was  lonesome,  and  I  went  down  to  your  den  because  I 
wanted  to  pretend  you  were  home."  He  winked  back  the 
tears.  "Aiid  I  found  a  copy  of  a  letter  you  wrote  Lady 
Pat,  just  two  bits  of  it,  that's  all.  I  know  now  what  you 
think  of  me.  I've  read  your  own  words  describing  just 
how  I  look  here — and  here — and  here." 

He  lifted  one  thin  leg  and  spatted  it  with  his  long 
finger;  his  right  hand  rapped  his  hollowed-in  chest,  while 
the  left  went  to  his  shoulders. 

Bewilderment  swept  over  Brewer's  face. 

"Letter?  What  letter?"  he  demanded.  "Child, 
you're  crazy!  " 

In  passionate  anger  Benny  bounded  to  the  floor. 

"  I'm  not  so  crazy  as  you  were  when  you  thought  you 
could  fool  me,"  he  retorted.  "  You're  so  dog-sick  of 
having  me  around  you  wrote  it  here."  He  tapped  the 
letter.  "  Well,"  he  choked,  "  I'll  be  dead  soon,  and  I 
suppose  you'll  be  glad." 

Martin  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Stop,"  he)  cried.     "  Stop  instantly,  and  listen  to  me!  " 

"I  won't  stop,"  flared  Benny,  wagging  his  head  and 
trying  to  free  himself.  "Let  me  go,  or,  when  you  do, 
something  will  happen.  Take  your  hands  off  of  me!  " 

Flinching  as  if  he  had  been  struck  with  a  stick,  Brewer 
relaxed  his  fingers,  and  Benny  slid  away.  He  crawled 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     71 

again  to  the  window  seat  and  perched  himself  in  the  open 
window.  From  there  he  frowned  back  on  his  mute 
father. 

"  Just  stay  where  you  are,  and  don't  come  any  nearer," 
he  hissed.  "I'll  read  you  something  you  never  intended 
me  to  see." 

"Get  down  into  a  chair,  then,"  said  Martin  persua- 
sively, "and  I'll  listen  to  it." 

"You'll  listen  with  me  right  here,"  retorted  Benny. 
"  When  I  think  how  I've  believed  in  you  all  my  life,  how 
I've  thought  you  were  sorry  for  me,  and — and  —  that 
you  loved — me!  " 

He  was  tottering  on  the  very  edge  of  the  window  sill, 
and  the  frozen  man,  watching  him,  scarcely  dared 
breathe,  nor  dared  his  agonized  heart  express  to  his  dis- 
tracted child  one  iota  of  its  affection  for  him.  Tears 
slowly  filled  his  eyes,  spilled  over  his  twitching  lids  and 
fell  in  splashes  down  his  shirt  front. 

"I'm  glad  you  can  cry,"  came  to  him  in  mocking 
tones.  "I  can't — any — more!  Hear  this!" 

And  Benny  held  up  a  torn  fragment  of  paper. 

"I  found  it  in  the  waste  basket,"  he  announced,  waving 
it  in  defiance,  "and  it  starts/ Dear  Paddy! ' " 

Then  he  threw  the  scrap  on  the  floor,  and,  spreading 
out  another,  he  began  to  read: 

"'Benny  is  so  ill  most  of  the  time  that  his  life  is  a 
burden  to  him.  He's  getting  thinner  and  thinner  every 
day.  I  often  wonder  how  his  legs  are  strong  enough  to 
carry  him  about.  The  trouble  in  his  spine  often  makes 
him  very  miserable  and  quite  useless — ' 

"You  needn't  have  told  her  I  was  useless,"  the  young 
reader  gulped.  "I'm  not — quite  that!  I — I  can  play 
better  than  any  one  you  know.  But — but  here's  more! 

"  'It's  impossible  for  him  to  marry  in  the  condition 
he's  in ;  you  can  see  that  for  yourself  —  '  " 


72     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

As  white  as  Benny  had  been,  his  tortured  young  face 
grew  even  more  so,  and  his  colorless  lips  tightened  over 
his  even  white  teeth. 

"I'll  bet  she  told  you  she'd  marry  me,  and  you  said, 
'No,'"  he  muttered,  coughing.  "What'd  you  tell  her  I 
was  useless  for?  Why'd  you  make  me  out  worse'n 
I  am?  " 

"I  didn't  tell  her  you  were  useless,"  Brewer  contra- 
dicted, his  face  bathed  in  sweat. 

"  It's  here,"  Benny  insisted,  flourishing  the  letter. 
"Can't  I  believe  my  own  eyes?  I  can  read,  can't  I? 
And  before  I  kill  myself,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I'm 
doing  it  because  I'm  in  your  way.  After  I'm  gone,  you 
can  marry  Lady  Pat  and  forget  all  about  me." 

"Benny,"  thrust  in  Brewer,  "let  me  speak  one  word, 
please! " 

"  I  hate  the  sound  of  your  voice,"  was  flung  back  at  him. 

"  But  at  least  you'll  hear  me,"  insisted  Martin.  "  Since 
the  day  I  picked  you  up  so  hurt  — " 

"All  twisted  forever,"  burst  in  Benny. 

"  Since  that  day,"  continued  Brewer,  "  I've  loved  every 
breath  you've  drawn.  And — and  I  did  not  write  those 
words  to  Patricia  Pepperday,  that  I  swear.  I  started 
a  letter  to  her  the  day  I  left  for  Chicago  but  decided  not 
to  send  it.  But  it  wasn't  a  love  letter,  you  can  believe 
that!  You've  evidently  found  bits  of  two  letters." 

"Then — who — who  did  you  tell  I  was  useless?"  asked 
Benny  hesitantly,  as  if  he  would  fain  believe  the  stout 
denial. 

"I  wrote  Doctor  Percy  Blair  about  you,  Ben,"  an- 
swered Brewer.  "You  heard  Patrick  O'Kelleron  speak  of 
him  yourself.  I  wrote  him  to  come  and  see  you.  Clearly 
you  didn't  find  that  part  of  the  copy  of  his  letter  and  only 
the  beginning  of  Paddy's.  I  tried  to  explain  all  I  could 
so  the  doctor  would  understand  your  case.  But  I  kept 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     73 

the  fact  that  I  had  written  him  from  you  because  of  the 
fuss  you  made  about  it,  because  I  didn't  want  you  to  be 
nervous  before  the  time  came. 

Then  the  habit  of  a  lifetime  grew  stronger  in  the  man. 
He  lived  but  to  gratify  his  son's  wishes. 

"Now,  hear  me  while  I  tell  you  the  rest,  Ben!  You're 
going  to  be  as  strong  as  any  boy  living.  If  other  backs 
have  been  straightened,  so  can  yours.  And  this — this 
I  promise  you,  son.  You  shall  have  Patricia  Pepper- 
day — if — if — "  He  almost  said,  "if  she  gets  well,"  but 
checked  himself.  "I  swear  on  my  life,"  he  went  on 
hurriedly,  "that  in  some  way  she  shall  be  induced  to 
marry  you.  Now,  will  you  trust  me  —  and  love  me, — 
boy,  boy  mine?  " 

Benny's  anger  died  abruptly  as  his  father  took  that 
mighty  oath. 

"Daddy,"  he  whispered,  and  Brewer  caught  him  up. 


74    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XII 

"Or  course,  Alex,  I  suppose  you'll  do  as  you  want  to  in 
spite  of  anything  I  say,"  expostulated  Mrs.  Clark,  "but 
I  warn  you  not  to  try  Patrick  too  far.  He's  very  much 
like  his  father,  and  I  know  him  better  than  you  do.  I 
don't  want  to  seem  to  scold,  my  dear,  but  he's  losing 
patience.  I  know  by  his  looks  every  time  you've  asked 
him  for  money." 

This  admonition  was  bestowed  upon  Alexander  Clark 
one  day  by  his  wife,  Nancy,  when  the  two  were  waiting 
in  her  boudoir  for  her  son.  If  there  was  one  thing  above 
another  she  disliked  to  do,  it  was  to  remonstrate  with 
her  ornamental  husband,  but  this  time  she  realized  it  was 
the  lesser  of  two  evils.  As  she  had  stated,  she  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  idiosyncracies  of  her  big,  red-headed 
Patrick. 

There  were  no  truer  words  ever  spoken  by  Nancy 
Clark  than  that  her  second  life-mate,  who  but  a  few  years 
back  she  had  tagged  as  her  own  private  property,  was 
handsome.  Upward  toward  his  slightly  distended 
nostrils  curled  a  mustache  a  king  might  have  envied.  In 
relation  to  it  was  a  carefully  cut  Vandyke  which  was  the 
secret  pride  of  its  owner's  existence.  Once  Nancy  had 
dissolved  into  highly  incensed  tears  when  her  idolized 
Patrick  had  pronounced  Alexander's  beautiful  beard,  "a 
dizzy  bunch  of  whiskers"  which,  so  the  young  man  had 
grinningly  asserted,  "I'd  enjoy  non-esting  with  the  dog 
clippers." 

Although  Mr.  Clark's  figure  had  lost  some  of  its  youth- 
fulness  under  luxurious  living,  he  was  still  a  man  in  whose 
possessorship  any  woman  might  exult. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     75 

And  Alexander's  eyes!  Ah,  how  darkly  they  flashed 
in  certain  moods,  how  dreamy  in  others! 

However,  Nancy  had  been  educated  in  a  bitter  school. 
She  had  learned  that  the  softer  spoken  her  spouse,  the 
gentler  his  rare  countenance,  the  greater  her  danger. 
Twice,  smilingly,  he  had  pinched  her  black  and  blue,  and 
once,  when  she  refused  him  a  jewel  to  pawn,  he  had 
donned  sackcloth  and  ashes  because  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  tweak  her  ear  almost  off. 

Now,  a  melting  tenderness  draped  him  like  a  holy 
mantle  and  covered,  as  Nancy  fathomed,  a  boiling  caul- 
dron of  temper.  But  Patrick  would  be  here  any  moment, 
and  she  gasped  with  gratitude  as  she  thought  of  it. 

"Tut,  tut,  my  loved  one,"  he  admonished  in  a  voice 
as  smooth  as  shimmering  satin,  "you  do  your  splendid 
Pat  a  wrong  by  entertaining  such  a  notion.  In  my 
opinion  he's  got  little  to  grouch  about.  Why,  before  he 
went  away  two  weeks  ago,  he  let  me  have  a  thousand 
dollars,  and  yesterday,  when  he  came  back,  he  didn't 
mention  giving  me  any  more,  so  I  just  took  the  bull  by 
the  horns  — " 

"And  I  let  you  have  a  thousand  last  week,"  put  in 
Nancy.  "That  was  his  money,  too." 

"But,  darling,  what  of  that?"  asked  Clark.  "You're 
his  mother,  Nan  dear,  and  I'm  your  own  devoted  hus- 
band. Outside  of  that,  Pat's  one  of  the  richest  young 
men  in  New  York.  Now,  why  shouldn't  you  and  I  have 
what  money  we  want  to  spend?" 

"Patrick  says  you  squander  too  much,"  answered  the 
woman,  "and  I'm  sure  he's  very  generous.  We  use  his 
magnificent  homes  quite  as  if  they  were  our  own,  Alex." 

"And  why  not,  my  sweet?"  he  purred.  "Who's  got  a 
better  right?  But  I  firmly  believe,  Nancy,  and  always 
have,  if  the  truth  were  known,  half  of  what  he  has  ought 
to  be  yours." 


76    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"That's  nonsense,  and  you  know  it ,"  she  retorted. 
"Until  Patrick's  Uncle  John  died  and  left  him  his  fortune, 
we  were  comparatively  poor.  John  wasn't  my  brother. 
He  was  my  first  husband's  brother.  I've  told  you  that 
again  and  again,  and  it  doesn't  set  very  well  to  hear  you 
constantly  hinting  that  my  boy  isn't  honest.  .  .  .  You 
say  Pat  humiliates  you,  but  you've  got  to  stand  it  unless 
you  go  into  business  for  yourself.  ...  I  wish  you  would, 
Alex." 

After  crumpling  the  lighted  end  of  a  cigarette  into  an 
ash  tray  thoughtfully,  Clark  turned  on  his  wife  with  a 
brilliant  smile. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  he  said.  "I'm  too  busy  to 
spend  my  life  sweating  at  a  desk.  I've  other  uses  for 
my  time." 

"Well,  what  do  you  do  with  your  time?"  questioned 
Nancy  in  a  quiver.  "You  don't  spend  much  of  it  with 
me." 

"God  forbid!"  whispered  Clark  to  his  artistic  soul. 

It  was  a  relief  to  both  husband  and  wife  when  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  walked  into  the  room. 

As  he  kissed  his  mother  affectionately,  she  recounted 
to  herself  for  the  millionth  time  the  glories  of  him,  her 
mighty  son,  whose  footprints  she  could  have  kissed  from 
sheer  adoration.  Often  she  wondered  from  whom  he 
had  inherited  that  crop  of  red  curls  and  the  glistening 
brown  of  his  eyes;  not  from  her  and  surely  not  from  his 
father.  At  this  moment  she  winced  a  bit  as  by  a  quick 
glance  she  compared  him  with  Alexander.  If  an  open 
rupture  came  between  the  two,  it  was  evident  that, 
metaphorically  speaking,  her  husband  would  be  ground 
into  the  dust. 

"Hello,  mater  mine,"  smiled  Patrick.  "I  came  up  as 
soon  as  I  could.  I  wasn't  in  the  office  when  your  message 
came  in." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     77 

A  flush  rose  to  Mrs.  Clark's  brow. 

"Alex  'phoned  you,  Paddy,  I  didn't,"  she  said  crossly. 
"I'm  never  so  much  in  need  that  I  can't  wait  until  you 
get  home." 

"What's  up?"  asked  O'Kelleron,  turning  to  his  step- 
father. 

Alexander  screwed  his  waxed  mustachio  nervously. 
This  young  man  awed  him  whenever  he  was  in  his 
presence. 

"It  was  ridiculous,  Alex's  sending  for  you,  Patsy!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Clark.  "If  he  hadn't  been  in  bed  this 
morning  when  you  left  the  house,  you'd  have  been  saved 
this  trip." 

"  No  matter,  mommy,"  Patrick  consoled  her  good- 
naturedly.  "I  had  to  come  uptown,  anyway.  One  of 
Brewer's  proteges  is  in  serious  trouble, — a  young  actor, — 
Michael  Pepperday.  Things  look  pretty  bad  for  him, 
and  the  worst  of  it  is  I've  got  to  try  him.  Martin  wants 
to  see  me  about  him." 

"You  know  I  don't  approve  of  Mr.  Brewer,  Patrick," 
said  Mrs.  Clark  with  a  tightening  of  her  thin  lips.  "  He 
has  no  sympathy  from  me,  nor  any  of  that  set  of  actors 
associated  with  him.  You've  heard  that  from  me  before, 
Paddy.  They  all  go  directly  against  the  Bible.  'An  eye 
for  an  eye'  is  the  motto  of  the  'Welfare  League.' ' 

Patrick  laughed.  Then  he  noted  her  pained  expres- 
sion and  became  suddenly  grave.  It  was  not  worth  the 
candle  to  argue  with  his  strictly  conventional  mother  on 
the  morals  of  men,  nor  did  he  desire  to  hurt  her  feelings. 

"Well,  live  and  let  live,  ma  petite,''  he  remarked  enig- 
matically.    "  Everybody  has  his  own  row  to  hoe.  .  .  . 
But  now  to  business!    -  Mother  dear,  I'd  like  to  talk  with 
your  husband  alone  a  few  minutes." 

But  that  did  not  agree  with  Alexander's  notions  at 
all.  He  returned  his  wife's  glance  with  a  pleading  smile 


78    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

and  a  slight  shake  of  his  head.  Notwithstanding,  that 
lady,  desirous  to  escape  the  discussion  she  knew  was 
coming,  arose  and  swept  out  of  the  room. 

"Now  what  is  it,  Alex?"  demanded  Patrick  as  soon  as 
the  door  was  closed.  "I'm  in  a  hurry;  Brewer's  waiting 
for  me  at  his  office." 

"I  dislike  to  speak  of  gross  matters,  dear  boy,"  mur- 
mured Clark,  "but — but  I  need — need  some  money!" 

"I  gave  you  a  thousand  dollars  two  weeks  ago.  That 
can't  be  all  gone!  Say,  Alex,  what  do  you  do  with  all 
the  cash  I  send  your  way?  I  didn't  want  to  hurt 
mother  by  mentioning  it  before  her,  but  I  heard,  quite 
by  accident — from  Eddie  Blake  if  you  want  to  know — 
that  you've  been  teaing  and  dining  with  that  Foster  girl 
who  was  playing  at  the  Hypo  not  long  ago.  It's  an  insult 
to  my  mother  for  you  to  be  running  around  with  Broad- 
way chickens.  You're  at  the  end  of  your  tether,  Alex- 
ander. Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  such  conduct?" 

A  smoldering  hate  against  his  independent,  impudent 
stepson  flamed  up  in  Clark,  a  wave  of  revolt.  He  flushed 
crimson.  What  were  the  few  paltry  thousands  which 
found  their  way  into  his  pockets  from  the  O'Kelleron 
bank  account  in  comparison  with  the  wealth  that  lay 
behind? 

"I  put  a  little  money  into  the  Foster  act,  Paddy,"  he 
excused  finally,  "and  Brown's  murder  made  it  necessary 
for  me  to  see  Miss  Foster." 

Disbelief  darkened  O'Kelleron's  face,  and  he  shrugged 
his  great  shoulders. 

"Better  keep  out  of  the  theatrical  business,"  he  warned 
sharply.  "You'll  get  stung  every  time,  and  I  advise  you 
to  keep  away  from  the  the  dansants,  too.  I  simply  won't 
have  my  mother  held  up  to  ridicule,  so  mind  that.  She's 
too  good  a  woman  to  be  made  a  laughing  stock  of." 

Preparing  to  leave,  he  picked  up  his  driving  gloves. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     79 

"Wait  a  minute,  Pat,"  pleaded  Clark.  "I  understand 
all  you  say  about  your  mother,  and  I  know  how  you  feel 
about  it.  She's  an  exquisite  woman,  but  at  times  she's 
difficult  to  live  with." 

O'Kelleron's  ruddy  face  paled  with  rising  ire. 

"If  she  had  a  decent  husband,  she'd  be  all  right!" 
was  his  bitter  reply.  "I  don't  find  it  hard  to  get  along 
with  her,  nor  any  one  else  I  ever  heard  of.  Her  servants 
stay  with  her  until  they  drop  in  their  tracks.  She  tells 
me  you're  gone  from  the  time  you  get  up  till  almost 
morning,  and  that  you  resent  her  trying  to  find  out  what 
you  do  and  where  you  go.  I'm  positive  you're  not  even 
polite  to  her  when  I'm  not  about,  much  less  affectionate. 
What  do  you  expect  of  a  wife,  I'd  like  to  know.  These 
aren't  cave  days,  my  dear  Alex." 

Mr.  Clark  made  no  immediate  answer.  So  then,  Nancy 
had  been  telling  tales  out  of  school!  If  this  enormous 
hulk  of  a  son  of  hers  was  not  standing  in  the  way,  he 
would  make  her  sorry  for  that,  be  damned  if  he  wouldn't! 

"It's  almost  impossible  for  me  to  stay  home,  Pat, 
Nancy  nags  at  me  so  much,"  he  complained  presently. 
"I  can't  have  a  minute's  peace.  She  and  I'd  be  much 
more  companionable  if  I  had  a  stated  allowance." 

"And  you  want  me  to  settle  one  on  you,  is  that  it?" 
interjected  O'Kelleron. 

"Yes!"  came  eagerly,  "Yes,  Patrick!  Money's  the 
bone  of  contention  between  your  mother  and  me.  She 
thinks  I  do  you  an  injustice." 

"You  certainly  do  her  one,"  shot  back  Patrick,  "and 
you  might  as  well  get  it  in  your  head  now,  as  any  other 
time,  that  I  don't  believe  one  word  you  say,  not  a  word. 
You've  promised  over  and  over  to  let  booze  alone,  and — 
and  to  treat  my  mother  decently,  but  I  don't  see  you 
doing  either.  I  hold  some  twenty-five  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  your  notes  without  a  chance  of  ever  getting  the 


8o    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

money  back.  If  mother  benefited  by  it,  I  wouldn't  mind, 
but  she  doesn't.  From  now  on — "  He  slapped  his 
gloves  into  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  with  a  smack.  "From 
now  on,"  he  repeated,  "you'll  take  your  stipend  from 
her.  Perhaps,  if  she  holds  the  purse  strings,  she'll  come 
up  in  your  estimation.  And,  believe  me,  Clark,  I'll  watch 
for  every  change  in  her  expression,  and,  if  I  see  she's  un- 
happy, I'll  come  down  on  you  like  a  thousand  of  brick!" 
Then  he  strode  to  the  door,  and  Alexander  heard  the 
horn  of  Patrick's  high-powered  motor  before  he  realized 
what  had  happened. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"You  mustn't  electrocute  Michael,  Patrick,"  cried 
Martin  Brewer  sharply. 

O'Kelleron  paused  on  his  way  to  the  door. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,  Mart,"  he  stated.  "As  I've 
told  you,  Pepperday  can't  be  coaxed  or  bulldozed  into 
saying  a  word.  I'm  sorry  to  hurt  your  feelings,  old  man, 
but  I  must  repeat  that  he's  guilty.  There's  no  doubt 
about  that  in  my  mind.  Still,  if  he'd  talk,  things 
wouldn't  look  so  bad  for  him." 

Drops  of  water  pricked  Brewer's  brow  and  upper  lip. 
"God  save  'em!"  boomed  through  his  brain,  as  if  a 
hammer  had  knocked  off  each  letter.  His  pet  slogan  he 
changed  to  "God  save  Michael!"  as  O'Kelleron  went  out. 

The  instant  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Martin  lunged 
toward  it.  He  had  not  clean-breasted  himself  of  the 
offense  of  shielding  a  possible  criminal.  Patrick  must 
know  what  he  knew.  Michael  must  have  a  chance,  and 
Benny  must  take  his.  But  neither  lad  could  stand  up 
under  O'Kelleron's  tremendous  pressure  as  a  prosecutor! 
So,  instead  of  opening  the  door,  Martin  slunk  back  and 
weakly  slid  into  a  chair.  He  was  more  than  cowardly, 
worse  than  Benny  a  thousand  times.  Benny  was  sick, 
afraid,  young. 

He  leaned  heavily  over  his  desk.  He  did  not  even 
twiddle  his  thumbs.  He  had  committed  himself  to  the 
first  dishonorable  act  of  his  life.  His  peace  of  mind  was 
gone,  and  nothing  could  restore  it.  He  tried  to  pray 
and  succeeded  only  in  a  dull  repetition,  "God  save 
Michael!  God  save  Michael!" 

There  came  a  knock  on  the  door,  and  instantly  Martin 


82     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

sat  up.  His  pride  would  not  allow  him  to  parade  his 
tribulation  before  his  office  staff. 

"What  is  it,  Scott?"  he  asked,  coughing  slightly  as 
his  secretary  stepped  into  the  room. 

"There's  a  girl  outside,  sir,  and  she  wants  to  see  you," 
was  the  reply. 

Martin  frowned.  To  talk  "God  bless  'em!  God  save 
'em"  at  that  moment, —  he  could  not  do  it!  Yet,  as  he 
was  a  man  unready  with  excuses,  he  hesitated. 

"How  does  she  look?"  he  questioned  lamely. 

"Rather  sad,  sir!" 

"  Then  give  her  twenty-five  dollars,  Scott,  and  get  her 
address.  Tell  her  to  come  again  in  a  day  or  two.  Tell 
her  not  to  worry  if  she  can  help  it;  and,  by  the  way, 
Claude,  when  you  give  her  the  money,  smile  at  her,  will 
you?" 

"Smile  at  her!"  was  what  he  had  ordered  of  his  secre- 
tary. He  had  quoted  it  as  a  matter  of  habit,  mechani- 
cally and  without  a  semblance  of  thought  that  any  one 
could  be  joyful  in  the  world.  He,  Martin  Brewer,  pro- 
moter of  happiness,  knew  now  what  it  meant  not  to  have 
a  smile  to  call  upon. 

The  secretary's  reappearance  brought  him  to  his  feet. 

"She  didn't  want  money,  sir,"  he  explained,  "and  she 
wouldn't  go  away,  either.  I  even  offered  her  fifty  dollars, 
knowing  you'd  approve.  She  wants  to  see  you." 

"Bring  her  in  then,"  said  Brewer. 

He  was  still  standing  when  a  young  girl  entered.  Dur- 
ing the  moment  they  surveyed  each  other,  it  flashed 
across  him  that  here  was  an  applicant  for  theatrical  work, 
the  type  Broadway  receives  with  open  arms.  Dozens 
such,  with  the  same  petiteness,  the  same  fair  skin  and 
charm,  had  received  their  stage  impetus  from  him. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  remarked,  assuming  a  profes- 
sional air.  "Getting  colder,  isn't  it?" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    83 

Until  the  door  was  closed,  she  did  not  speak. 

"I  had  to  see  you,  Mr.  Brewer,"  she  apologized,  and 
immediately  he  changed  his  mind  as  to  the  cause  of  her 
visit. 

"All  right,"  he  responded,  "you're  seeing  me  now, 
aren't  you?  What's  your  name?  " 

"Flossie  Baker!" 

"  Very  well,  Flossie!  Sit  down,  and  unburden  your 
soul." 

"You — you  help  women?"  she  questioned  in  confusion. 

Ah!     It  was  a  bit  out  of  his  "God  save  'em!"  then! 

"Yes,"  he  nodded,  "that's  the  best  part  of  my  business." 

"Will  you  help  me — a  little — oh,  just  a  little?" 

"Certainly,  but  you  needn't  cry.  Everything  comes 
out  in  the  wash!  Nothing's  ever  so  bad  it  can't  be 
worse,  my  girl!" 

He  forgot  in  his  sympathy  for  the  weeping  young  thing 
that  his  own  matters  were  quite  as  hopeless  as  they  could 
possibly  be. 

"I'm  in  dreadful  trouble,"  she  murmured  under  her 
breath. 

She  sat  nervously  on  the  very  edge  of  her  chair,  her 
gloved  fingers  clasped  together. 

"  I've  been  on  the  stage,"  she  told  him  presently  as  if 
in  excuse. 

"You  look  it,"  was  all  Brewer  said. 

"  I  can't  go  through  with  it!  I  can't!  I  can't!  "  she 
broke  forth.  "Everybody  says  you're  angelic  to  women. 
Do  help  me!  Please,  please!  I  haven't  a  friend  in  the 
world  to  go  to." 

Martin  lifted  a  paper  weight  from  one  pile  of  papers 
and  laid  it  down  on  another  for  no  reason  whatever. 

"Tell  me  more,"  he  said,  his  head  bowed. 

"He — he  said  it  was  all  my  fault — that — that  I — 
Oh,  Mr.  Brewer,  I've  a  lovely  mother!" 


84    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Heaven's  blessed  you  so  far  then,"  Martin  exclaimed. 
"Be  thankful  for  that!" 

"But  she's  proud — so  proud  of  me!" 

"Sure  she  is,  and  she  has  a  right  to  be,"  fell  softly 
from  his  lips. 

"But  you  don't  understand,"  she  pointed  out  feverishly. 
"I've  been  wicked — and — and  I  can't  bear  the  conse- 
quences. I  can't  for  my  mother's  sake.  She  believes  in 
me;  she  thinks  I'm  good." 

"So  you  are,"  said  Martin  with  force. 

"No,  no,  don't  try  to  comfort  me!  You  want  to  make 
me  happier.  I  can  see  that,  but  I'm  so  miserable!  If — 
if  Eddie  had  married  me,  as  he  promised,  I'd  have  loved 
it,  but—" 

"You'll  love  it  just  the  same,"  insisted  Brewer  sharply. 
"Love's  love  wherever  you  find  it,  Flossie."  Then,  with 
his  usual  perspicacity,  he  struck  at  a  nail  the  head  of 
which  was  not  visible  to  his  material  sight.  "But  I'm 
afraid  Eddie  Blake  hasn't  much  love  in  his  make-up,  but 
you  never  can  tell." 

With  a  long,  troubled  look  she  searched  his  face. 

"I  —  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  his  name,"  she  said, 
anguished.  "  He'd  be  so  angry,  and  I  —  I  —  I  love  him 
so,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  him!  You  won't  ever  tell,  you 
won't  I  know,  but  — " 

"I  wouldn't  hurt  Eddie  for  the  world,  Flossie,"  Brewer 
assured  her.  "  Of  course,  you  love  him,  and  love  doesn't 
go  amiss  wherever  it's  sent;  remember  that! 

"Now,  will  you  please  listen  to  me  while  I  talk  to  you 
a  few  minutes,  and  keep  in  mind  I'm  going  to  help  you?  " 

"Yes!"  The  lovely  head' was  bowed  low,  and  the 
twitching  face  hid  its  shame. 

"Always — always,  child,"  the  manager  imparted  in 
gentle  solemnity,  "I've  looked  upon  killing  as  heaven- 
damned,  and  I  can't  countenance  it  now.  Why,  I  can't 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    85 

stand  a  fly  swatter  in  my  house.  I  say:  Keep  so  clean 
the  pests  won't  want  to  come  in.  I  believe  in  conserving 
life  wherever  you  find  it,  Flossie." 

"Then  you  won't  help  me,"  she  cried,  rising  in  terror. 
"The  way  you  talk  means  you  won't." 

"It  means  nothing  of  the  sort.  No,  don't  shake  like  a 
leaf,  kid.  Sit  down,  and  take  it  easy  for  a  spell." 

As  though  all  hope  in  life  had  departed,  she  sank  into 
the  chair. 

Brewer's  one-track  mind  busied  itself  with  the  girl's 
situation.  She  was  whimpering  behind  her  handkerchief, 
but  no  thought  of  rebuke  entered  his  head.  The  hand- 
some Blake  and  his  ambitions  rode  side  by  side  with 
Flossie's  need. 

"I  suppose  your  mother  wouldn't  be  sorry  if  you  were 
married,  would  she,  Flossie?"  he  said  at  length. 

"No,  of  course,  not,"  she  answered,  staring  at  him 
through  her  tears.  "She's  often  said  so.  Why?" 

His  strong,  kindly  face  kindled  with  a  flickering  smile. 

"Then  get  married,"  he  said  swiftly.  "You  don't  have 
'to  show  up  Eddie  Blake  just  because  you  wear  a  wedding 
ring.  Poor  child,  you've  been  treated  pretty  damned 
rough,  haven't  you?  But  never  mind/we'll  pull  you 
through.  With  my  consent  you  won't  commit  murder, 
not  by  a  long  shot.  But — but  you'll  wear  a  ring  which'll 
tell  your  mother  you've  a  right  to  have  a  baby  if  you 
want  it;  and  it'll  be  the  kind  of  a  ring,  too,  that'll  make 
her  open  her  eyes.  Understand,  Flossie?" 

"Yes,  I've  thought  of  that,  too,"  she  mourned,  "but  I 
didn't  have  money  enough  to  do  it.  It  would  take  such 
a  lot." 

As  the  moments  advanced,  Brewer's  spirits  rose.  There 
was  nothing  like  the  "God  save  'em!  "  to  buck  a  fellow 
up.  And  what  was  more,  he  believed  the  doctrine 
he  preached:  That,  unless  he  put  out  his  strong  arm, 


86    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

this  vital  young  creature  would  be  blasted  by  a  code  she 
did  not  understand. 

"  Now,  look  at  it  this  way,"  he  continued  after  a  while. 
"The  shortest  way  round  is  the  easiest  way  there.  Go 
home  to  your  mother,  like  a  good  girl.  Mothers  are  the 
best  souls  in  the  world  anyway,  and  don't  make  the  mis- 
take of  thinking  otherwise,  Flossie.  And — and,  when 
you  are  yourself  again,  come  back  to  Broadway,  and  I'll 
give  you  a  chance  on  the  stage  that'll  make  my  smart 
Eddie  boy  wish  he'd  played  the  game  straight." 

Moved  by  great  emotion,  she  declared: 

"I  never  —  never  can  thank  you  —  enough!  I  don't 
know  how  —  to  — "  A  slight  negative  shake  of  the  ex- 
quisite head  was  followed  by,  "  Tell  me  what  to  say, 
please!" 

"Why,  God  bless  your  soul,  Flossie,  you  don't  need  to 
thank  me!  I  don't  want  thanks!  Now,  we'll  fix  this 
thing  up,  or  at  least  make  a  start."  He  slipped  his  hand 
into  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  roll  of  bills  and  stripped 
off  two  of  large  denomination.  "  Trot  over  to  Tiffany's, 
and  buy  a  wedding  ring  with  that,  a  jim-cracker! 

"And  don't  argue  about  it,"  he  told  her,  noticing  her 
stupefied  incredulity.  "Just  do  it!  Come  back  here  to- 
morrow morning  —  let  me  see  —  at  ten-thirty.  Wad  this 
into  your  pocketbook,  and  let  me  steer  you  for  a  day  or 
two — and — say,  girl,  smile,  can't  you?" 

She  stood  up,  a  wan  little  smile  touching  the  corners  of 
her  lips;  but  in  her  eyes  there  still  remained  that  eternal 
expression  of  woe  that  will  rest  in  women's  eyes  as  long 
as  women  are  women  and  some  men  are  what  they  are. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    87 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"MR.  BLAKE'S  waiting  for  you,  sir,"  Martin  was  in- 
formed, as  promptly  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  he 
strode  into  his  office. 

A  slight  grimace  creased  the  skin  about  his  lids  and 
lips. 

"Good,"  he  ejaculated,  "and,  Scott,  when  that  girl 
comes  in,  the  one  who  wouldn't  take  the  fifty  yesterday, 
just  give  me  a  call." 

He  went  into  his  private  office  and  found  the  alder- 
man stretched  out  in  an  easy  chair. 

"Hello,  Eddie,"  he  sang  out  jovially.  "Thanks  for 
being  here  on  time.  How's  how?  All  right?" 

While  he  was  speaking,  he  took  off  his  coat  and  hat. 

"  I'm  finer'n  silk,"  responded  Blake  with  a  smiling  nod. 
"Couldn't  be  better,  Mart!  It  looks  from  my  place  in 
the  road  as  if  I'd  land  that  judgeship.  It's  a  long  wait 
till  next  fall,  though.  Say,  that  O'Kelleron  is  as  clever 
as  they  make  'em!  I'll  wager  a  fat  roll  I'll  be  governor 
of  this  State,  too,  with  both  of  you  to  help  me,  before 
I'm  done." 

"So?"  came  Brewer's  meditative  reply. 

"Yes,  siree,  old  man,"  asserted  Blake.  "I'm  the  ambi- 
tious fellow,  you  can  bet  what  you  like  on  that." 

Brewer  made  an  elaborate  circle  to  reach  his  swivel 
chair.  He  drew  a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  lighted  it  and 
sat  down.  Then  seemingly  he  gave  his  whole  attention 
to  the  weed.  He  drew  on  it,  smacking  his  lips  as  though 
he  were  thoroughly  enjoying  himself.  He  looked  at  the 
glowing  end  and  blew  gently  upon  it.  Meanwhile  his 
expression  was  as  blank  as  a  stone  wall. 


88     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Of  a  sudden  he  jabbed  the  cigar  between  his  molar 
teeth,  cocked  his  feet  on  the  table,  and  only  then  did  he 
center  upon  Blake  a  long,  piercing  look. 

"So!  "  he  repeated  in  exclamation.  "Ambition,  rightly 
directed,  is  a  great  thing  in  this  world." 

"I  find  it  so,"  ruminated  the  other.  "And  my  future 
plans  are  not  all  selfish.  I  intend  to  marry  Patricia 
Pepperday." 

One  inch  from  the  butt  of  Martin's  cigar  was  almost 
crunched  off  as  it  rocked  under  the  set  of  his  heavy  jaw. 

"She'll  change  her  mind  when  she  gets  better,"  con- 
tinued Blake  easily. 

"She  refused  you,  then?"  asked  Martin  in  far-off  tones. 

"Yes!  I  approached  her  the  wrong  way,  that  was  the 
trouble.  But  you  know  how  changeable  women  are. 
Like  the  wind !  She  has  huge  respect  for  you,  though.  I 
wish  now  I'd  told  her  of  your  approval." 

The  speaker  was  restrained  suddenly  from  finishing  his 
sentence  by  the  frigid  attitude  and  steady  stare  of  his 
companion. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mart?"  he  questioned  with  bated 
breath. 

"Well,  Eddie,"  began  Brewer,  "I'm  devilish  sorry  to 
smash  any  of  your  carefully  thought-out  plans,  but  I'm 
out  with  a  brass  band  against  you." 

As  if  he  were  going  to  speak,  Blake's  mouth  fell  open, 
but  he  was  struck  dumb. 

"Bassoon,  double  bassoon  and  all,"  rumbled  out  along- 
side the  manager's  mutilated  cigar. 

"  What?"  exclaimed  Blake,  growing  crimson. 

"When  you  first  talked  to  me  about  what  you  wanted, 
Ed,"  the  older  man  proceeded  slowly,  "I  had  it  in  mind 
to  stand  by  you — well,  not  because  I  like  you  particularly, 
but  you — you  had  a  dandy  father,  and  he  and  I  were 
friends.  I  wanted  to  see  his  son  advance,  by  Jove.  I 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     89 

did!  And,  if  I  could  lend  a  hand,  I'd  do  it.  But  that 
was  before  I  knew  about — about  Flossie  Baker!" 

He  laid  down  his  cigar,  his  thumbs  beginning  their 
whipping  race  about  each  other. 

"Well,  for  God's  sake,"  sprang  from  Blake's  lips. 

"  'Tis  sort  of  funny,  Eddie,  isn't  it?  —  that  I  manage 
to  get  my  thumb  in  most  folks'  pie,"  Brewer  said  with  a 
wry  twist  of  his  lips;  "but  I'm  in  yours,  and  I'm  in  for  the 
big  plum.  See?" 

To  abstain  from  a  string  of  ripping  oaths,  Blake  bit 
the  inside  of  his  cheek.  It  occurred  to  him  all  at  once 
that  he  could  not  measure  strength  with  the  man  before 
him.  From  the  Battery  to  the  Bronx,  Martin  Brewer 
was  known  and  loved. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  the  lawyer  muttered. 

"Do?"  exploded  Brewer.  "Hell,  what  does  any  decent 
man  do  under  the  circumstances?  At  that  it'll  depend 
on  Flossie  whether  I  drum  you  out  of  New  York  or  not. 
If  she's  willing  to  marry  you,  I'll  glue  myself  to  the  back 
seat  of  the  hack  and  let  you  drive  pell-mell.  You'll 
smash  up  sooner  or  later  without  any  help  from  me.  And 
if  I  decide  to  let  you  alone,  you  can  thank  the  good  God 
who  made  you!" 

Never  before  had  Blake's  ego  received  such  a  shock. 
He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  took  a  couple  of  plunging  turns 
up  and  down  the  room. 

With  a  sense  of  satisfaction  Martin  watched  him  from 
under  his  heavy  brows.  There  was  nothing  he  enjoyed 
so  royally  as  squeezing  flat  a  fellow,  like  Blake,  when  he 
had  brought  to  light  some  bad  intent.  If  he  had  not  been 
enduring  the  pangs  of  the  damned  himself,  he  would  have 
laughed  outright. 

"But,  Mart,"  exclaimed  the  alderman,  halting  abruptly, 
"listen  to  a  little  reason,  will  you?  You  know  very  well, 
if  I  marry  Floss,  no  good  will  come  of  it.  Such  marriages 


9o    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

never  go.  Anyhow,  you  can't  insist  on  it  now  you  know 
how  I  feel  about — about  some  one  else.  I  was  drunk 
most  of  the  time  I  played  around  with — with  Miss  Baker 
and  don't  care  a  rap  of  my  finger  about  her." 

"So  I  was  given  to  understand,  Eddie,"  Martin  re- 
joined, "but  that  doesn't  count  for  a  damn  with  me.  Of 
course,  I  can't  make  you  marry  Flossie, —  but  I  can  break 
you  in  New  York  or  anywhere  else  you  might  want  to  go. 
Before  I'm  finished  with  you,  you'll  smell  to  high  heaven; 
even  the  angels  will  hold  their  noses." 

He  boomed  out  the  last  words,  his  fist  thumping  his 
chair  arm. 

"  I  say,  quit  it,  Mart,"  begged  Blake,  going  limp. 
"What's  the  use?  A  fellow  will  be  a  fellow  once  in  a 
while.  But  you've  got  me  in  the  net,  and  I'll  do  what 
you  say,  but  I  simply — can't  live  with  her.  Don't  ask  me 
to  do  that." 

"God  forbid,"  cried  Brewer.  "I  couldn't  wish  on  the 
pretty  child  such  a  life  as  you'd  lead  her.  But,  if  you 
want  me  to  hold  my  tongue,  you  must  marry  her.  She'll 
go  home  to  her  mother,  poor  girl,  the  happier,  I  hope, 
but  you'll  have  to  treat  her  pretty  well  to  get  her  consent, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken.  If  she  refuses,  then  I'm  thumbs 
down." 

"Ugh!     To  hell  with  women,"  burst  from  Blake. 

Brewer  laughed. 

"Eddie,"  he  said  whimsically,  "hell's  a  place  that  never 
yet  saw  a  woman  and  won't  so  long  as  the  Almighty 
keeps  up  that  institution.  A  woman — why,  a  woman 
can't  do  a  deed  on  this  footstool  that  she  isn't  forgiven 
before  she  starts  in.  Hell — "  He  paused  in  thought, 
a  shadow  falling  across  his  fine  countenance,  "hell,"  he 
reiterated,  "was  made  needful  by  just  such  men  as  you 
and — and  me." 

The  telephone  tinkled  at  his  elbow,  and  he  took  off 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    91 

the  receiver  and  placed  it  to  his  ear  with  a  sigh. 

"All  right,  send  her  in,"  he  ordered,  and  then,  eyeing 
the  cringing  lawyer,  he  informed  him,  " Flossie's  on  her 
way  in.  My  dear  Judge,  if  you'll  be  so  kind  as  to  step 
into  my  directors'  room,  out  of  the  way  a  minute,  I'll  be 
ever  so  much  obliged,  —  damn  you!" 

Miss  Baker  came  in  shyly,  and  Brewer  took  quick  note 
that  she  was  not  crying.  On  the  contrary  she  looked 
extraordinarily  like  a  timorous  child. 

"Good  morning,  Flossie,"  he  greeted  her  easily,  rising. 
"Feeling  better?" 

"I've  got  it!  See!"  she  twittered,  holding  out  her 
hand.  "You  gave  me  enough  money  to  get  one  with 
diamonds  around  it.  Isn't  it  the  cutest  thing?" 

He  turned  the  ring  around  several  times. 

"Splendid,"  he  approved.  "Diamonds  are  none  too 
good  for  you,  my  dear !  Now  sit  down,  and  let's  go  over 
a  few  things  together." 

He  waved  her  to  a  chair  and  then  reseated  himself. 

"  I  was  wondering,  Flossie,"  he  observed  after  a 
moment's  consideration,  "if  you'd  consent  to  marry  Eddie 
Blake.  It's  a  big  thing  to  ask,  I  know,  but  I'd  like  you 
to  think  about  it." 

She  was  so  taken  aback  by  the  question  that  she  could 
not  speak  for  a  space.  Tears  brimmed  over  her  lids  and 
ran  down  her  cheeks,  unheeded.  Then, 

"Of  course,  I'd  love  it,  Mr.  Brewer,"  she  sobbed,  "but 
he  wouldn't  marry  me.  He  told  me  so  over  and  over. 
I  begged  him  to, — but — but  he  loves  some  one  else." 

"Eddie,"  called  Brewer,  and  Edward  Blake's  big  frame 
loomed  in  the  doorway  at  the  speaker's  side. 

When  the  girl  saw  him  she  went  death-white. 

"There  she  is,  Ed,"  Brewer  thundered.  "Now  ask 
her  what  she  wants  to  do." 

He  whirled  his  chair  completely  around,  so  that  his 


92     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

back  was  to  them.  Behind  him  he  heard  a  man's  hoarse 
whispers  and  a  girl's  hesitating  replies.  But  he  twiddled 
his  thumbs  and  looked  out  of  the  window  and  watched  a 
flock  of  pigeons  rise  from  a  loft  over  near  Ninth  Avenue, 
circle  hither  and  yon,  up  and  down,  wheeling  and  turning 
together,  then  settle  back  to  their  feeding. 

"Mart,"  Blake's  voice  came  to  him  hi  smothered  tones, 
"Miss  Baker — has — consented  to  marry  me!" 

"Good  for  her,"  laughed  Brewer,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"You're  a  lucky  man,  Ed,  in  more  ways  than  one.  And 
I  suppose  now's  as  good  a  time  as  any  for  the  knot  to  be 
tied.  .  .  .  But,  Eddie,  before  you  go,  just  come  over  here 
and  make  out  a  check  for  your  wife's  wedding  ring.  In  my 
opinion  she  showed  mighty  good  taste  in  picking  it  out." 

During  the  next  few  moments  only  the  scratch  of 
Blake's  pen  was  heard. 

"  I'll  just  drive  you  down  to  the  City  Hall  myself  if 
you  don't  mind,  Edward,"  chuckled  Brewer.  "I  haven't 
officiated  as  best  man  at  a  wedding  in  a  blue  moon. 
But — but,  upon  my  word,  the  first  thing  I  want  to  do 
is — is  to  congratulate  you, — Judge — Blake." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    93 


CHAPTER  XV 

THERE  came  a  night  when  Martin  Brewer  made  no 
pretense  of  going  to  bed.  In  fact,  ever  since  Michael 
Pepperday's  trial  had  been  in  session,  he  had  succumbed 
to  sleep  only  through  sheer  fatigue.  Taking  no  account 
of  the  hours,  he  had  watched  daily  the  slow,  relentless 
progress  of  the  State  in  its  efforts  to  enmesh  the  boy 
ever  closer  in  a  thicket  of  damning  circumstances. 

He  paced  his  room  in  a  purgatory  of  anguish,  praying 
desperately  at  times  and  at  others  declaring  with  clenched 
fists  that  by  no  act  of  his  should  Benny  be  endangered. 
Away  from  his  son,  he  insisted  to  himself  he  was  a  dear 
innocent;  in  his  capricious  presence,  he  was  not  so  certain. 

With  the  coming  of  the  cold,  gray,  October  dawn, 
Martin  bathed,  dressed,  swallowed  a  cup  of  coffee  and  sat 
down  to  wait  until  the  world  was  astir. 

Presently,  somewhere  beyond  in  the  city,  a  church  bell 
began  to  toll  the  hour.  Aloud,  Martin  counted  each 
ding-dong  monotonously,  "One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six, 
seven,  eight."  Then,  with  an  audible  groan,  he  arose 
and  climbed  to  Benny's  apartment. 

"What's  happened — huh?"  queried  Benny  drowsily, 
when  his  father  appeared  at  his  bedside.  "It's  early  yet, 
isn't  it,  dad?  Patricia—" 

"There's  been  no  news  about  her  since  last  night," 
interrupted  Martin,  sitting  down  weightily.  "I  should 
have  heard,  son,  if  she'd  been  worse.  Michael's  trial 
will  end  to-day — and — and  every  bit  of  the  evidence  is 
against  him,  too." 

Benny  dropped  back  on  his  pillow. 

"Will  they  kill  him,  do  you  suppose?"  he  shuddered. 


94    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Perhaps,"  offered  Brewer,  and  that  was  all. 

It  seemed  an  endless  stretch  of  time  before  he  could 
loosen  his  throat  muscles  sufficiently  to  speak  again. 

"Benny,"  he  said  finally,  leaning  over  and  laying  his 
hand  on  the  boy's  hot  brow,  "son,  could  you  brace  up  a 
minute  and  tell  your  old  dad  why  you  went  to  Cavendish's 
that  night?" 

Wearily  Benny's  lids  came  together,  and  his  boyish 
face  assumed  an  expression  of  pallid  remoteness  as  though 
his  spirit  were  gradually  leaving  its  house  of  clay. 

"Benny,"  Brewer  said  indistinctly.  "Benny,  lad, 
look  at  me." 

"I  don't  want  to  look  at  you,"  wailed  Benny.  "I'd 
rather  you'd  leave  me  alone.  I'll  never  tell  about  Caven- 
dish's as  long  as  I  live,  so  don't  ask  me  any  more." 

"But,  boy,  you  must  tell  me,"  interjected  Brewer 
fiercely.  "I  want  to  know  everything  that  happened 
that  night." 

"Oh,  can't  you  let  me  be?  My  head  aches,  my  back 
aches,  and  I'm  sick  all  over." 

Then  he  burst  into  a  spasm  of  weeping,  and  Martin, 
unable  to  bear  the  sight,  stretched  his  big  frame  beside 
the  lad,  put  his  arms  under  his  heaving  shoulders  and 
pressed  his  son's  head  against  his  breast. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine! 
Another  sixty  minutes,  long  second  by  long  second,  had 
gone  into  eternal  time.  Benny  was  asleep  as  his  father 
crept  away,  to  begin  anew  his  fight  with  himself,  to  endure 
again  the  agony  of  mind  that  each  day  now  meant  to 
him,  as  he  watched  and  listened  to  O'Kelleron's  prosecu- 
tion of  Michael. 

From  his  position  in  the  center  of  the  courtroom 
Martin  Brewer  could  plainly  see  each  solemn  juror's  face. 
He  looked  at  them  most  of  the  time.  They  fascinated 
him, — that  row  of  silent,  attentive  men. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    95 

On  his  way  to  the  District  Attorney's  table,  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  stopped  and  shook  hands  with  him.  After 
the  lawyer  had  walked  away,  Martin  wished  he  had 
whispered  a  word  in  his  ear  in  favor  of  the  youthful 
prisoner.  He  glanced  around  the  room  speculatively. 

Another  sun-up  would  bring  to  Michael — what?  His 
gaze  rested  on  the  silvered  head  of  Madison  Pepperday, 
who,  gaunt,  thin  and  hollow-eyed,  was  sitting  next  to  his 
son,  Barney.  Martin  wished  he  were  Madison.  Madi- 
son was  standing  by  his  accused  boy,  a  royal  figure  of 
fatherhood.  Madison  had  nothing  to  conceal.  Madison's 
life  was  straight  and  aboveboard,  while  his  own — he 
hardly  dared  think  what  it  had  become. 

Perhaps,  if  Martin  could  have  glimpsed  the  mind  of 
the  man  he  envied,  he  would  have  realized  that  every 
heart  knows  its  own  bitterness.  For  all  his  children's 
trouble  Madison  was  blaming  himself.  Anxious  days, 
spent  by  him  trailing  from  Roosevelt  Hospital  to  the 
Tombs,  had  told  on  his  health  perceptibly. 

Now,  for  a  week  and  three  days  he  had  been  compelled 
to  sit  silently  in  the  presence  of  that  august  judge  while 
indefatigable  men  hurled  anathemas  at  his  baby,  for  to 
the  father  heart,  Michael  had  gone  back  to  the  days  of 
his  babyhood. 

Suffering  almost  beyond  human  ken,  he  had  noticed 
the  change  that  had  come  over  his  son  after  Millicent 
Foster  had  sworn  that  she  had  been  with  Fancy  Caven- 
dish, her  brother  and  Edward  Blake  until  almost  day- 
light of  the  morning  of  the  murder.  After  that  Michael 
had  seemed  but  a  man  of  stone. 

From  under  his  dark  brows,  Madison  looked  at  his 
sons.  First  at  Barney, — good,  old,  dependable  Barney! 
The  boy's  dear  mouth  was  lined  with  the  strain  of  the 
past  few  weeks.  Then  he  gazed  at  Michael's  beautiful 
face,  and  tears  stung  his  aching  lids.  How  could  he  go 


96    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

back  to  his  children's  blind  mother  with  the  dreadful 
tale  of  her  daughter's  illness  and  her  youngest  son's 
disgrace!  With  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  the  trusting 
Yum-yum  in  Balmville,  attended  and  protected  by  Aunt 
Addie.  Because  he  imagined  he  was  on  the  brink  of 
insanity,  Madison  dragged  his  attention  back  to  this  im- 
portant hour. 

Through  the  veil  of  mist  that  dimmed  his  sight,  he 
saw  Patrick  O'Kelleron  rise  to  start  the  final  attack  that 
would  determine  weal  or  woe  for  Michael.  The  cold 
sweat  on  his  face  seemed  to  freeze  into  a  layer  of  thin 
ice.  He  was  mortally  afraid  of  this  splendid  prosecutor, 
this  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  with  his  glinting  red  hair,  his 
piercing,  golden-brown  eyes  and  enormous  frame.  Madi- 
son's soul  sank  into  despair  as  the  lawyer's  magnetic 
voice  began  its  slow,  even  speech.  It  became  as  soft  as 
a  mother's  whispered  caress  when  he  spoke  of  Arthur 
Brown  but  rose  sonorously  ear-splitting  as  he  rapped 
denunciations  against  Michael. 

Madison  ran  his  shaking  fingers  through  his  thick 
damp  hair  to  lift  its  weight  from  his  burning  skull.  How 
his  head  ached!  How  his  temples  throbbed!  Try  as 
he  would,  he  could  not  keep  his  vision  clear.  Even  the 
bigness  of  O'Kelleron  was  blotted  out  in  the  clouds  that 
swam  and  swirled  before  his  eyes.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
were  floating  away  into  a  nebulous  nothingness  where  he 
hung  suspended — just  himself  and  the  resonance  of  that 
importunate  voice!  Then  ringing  execration  struck  upon 
his  ear  drum  like  chisel  on  marble. 

"We  can't  tell  you  just  how  the  killing  was  done," 
conceded  O'Kelleron.  "But  one  living  man  knows 
whether  he  stabbed  his  victim  stealthily  in  cold  blood  or 
struck  him  down  in  the  heat  of  conflict." 

The  powerful  pleader  turned  and  pointed  at  Michael. 

"He  knows,"   came  in   appalling,   thunderous   tones, 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    97 

"that  murderer!     Michael  Pepperday!" 

The  imputation  seared  Madison's  brain  like  a  brand- 
ing iron.  His  own  identity  disappeared  in  the  black 
gulf  that  had  swallowed  every  one  and  everything  but 
his  beloved  son  and  his  cruel  antagonist.  A  sob  burst 
from  his  lips.  He  pulled  himself  to  his  feet,  tottered 
forward  and  raised  his  tragic  face  to  O'Kelleron. 

"Man,"  he  quavered,  reeling,  "you — you — lie!" 

Barney  leaped  forward  to  his  father's  side;  Michael 
partly  arose,  too,  but  an  officer  touched  him,  and  he  sank 
back  again. 

For  what  seemed  a  space  of  time  hacked  out  of  eter- 
nity, O'Kelleron  stood  perfectly  still,  his  flaming  eyes 
leveled  on  the  grief-maddened  father  of  the  Pepperdays. 

A  despair  as  deep  as  the  well  of  night  overtook  the 
Pater.  Then  something  snapped  in  his  head,  and  in 
spite  of  Barney's  efforts  to  support  him,  he  slumped  to 
the  floor. 


98    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LIFTING  her  heavy  lids,  Patricia  Pepperday  looked 
around  with  never  so  much  as  a  movement  of  her  muscles. 
Her  arms,  thin  to  emaciation,  lay  outside  the  white  cover- 
let, her  small,  fleshless  hands  relaxed  as  if  they  had  no 
strength  to  move  their  own  weight.  With  her  opening 
flush  of  intelligence,  she  regarded  them  as  a  child  does 
when  first  discovering  that  it  possesses  fingers. 

Then  something  out  of  a  long-ago  yesterday,  fleeting 
and  intangible,  drifted  through  her  mind  and  floated 
away  again.  Her  gaze  traveled  across  the  ceiling,  down 
the  wall  to  a  shadow,  a  rounded  shadow  just  above  the 
table  where  a  faint  light  glimmered  under  a  dark  shade. 
She  considered  it  without  attempting  to  discover  its 
origin.  Then  it  moved,  vanished,  appeared  again  and 
spread  into  the  dark  outline  of  a  man's  body. 

She  endeavored  to  speak,  and  in  the  effort  one  of  her 
hands  raised  a  little,  and  she  sighed.  Her  features 
quivered  with  interest  as  she  saw  some  one  tiptoe  toward 
the  bed.  Then  the  person  bent  over  her,  and  in  recogni- 
tion a  slow  smile  touched  the  corners  of  her  lips.  Barney! 
How  glad  she  was  to  see  him  after  so  many  frightful 
nightmares  that  were  not  true  at  all!  She  wondered 
apathetically  where  Michael  was.  This  she  managed  to 
ask,  her  lips  straining  back  from  her  teeth. 

Drawing  a  chair  close  up  to  the  bed,  Barney  sat  down. 

"Don't  talk  just  now,  dear,"  he  said  in  gentle  persua- 
sion. "After  a  while,  perhaps,  after  the  doctor's  been 
here." 

"But  I  must  talk,"  her  lips  framed. 

Leaning  over,  he  kissed  her  cheek. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    99 

"  To-morrow,"  he  promised.     "Go  to  sleep,  now." 

Too  weak  to  repeat  her  request  for  Michael,  she  slept, 
woke  up,  partook  of  food  and  slept  again,  until  the  sun 
had  risen  and  set  six  times  over  Roosevelt  Hospital.  Then 
one  morning  Barney  discovered  that  she  was  contemplat- 
ing him  curiously. 

"My  head  feels  queer,"  she  complained,  putting  her 
hand  to  her  brow. 

"  Never  mind!  You've  been  just  a — a — wee  bit — sick, 
old  thing." 

"Where's  Yum-yum?"  was  her  next  question. 

"Living  with  Aunt  Addie." 

To  the  boy's  astonishment  she  did  not  puzzle  over 
this  unusual  circumstance. 

"Is  the  Pater  there,  too?"  she  inquired  promptly. 

To  hide  his  face  as  well  as  to  simulate  assent,  he  in- 
clined his  head. 

"I  want  to  see  Michael.     Where  is  he?" 

A  haunted  expression  crept  into  her  sand-gray  eyes, 
and  her  transparent  skin  became  a  network  of  wrinkles. 

"I  want  Michael,"  she  reiterated  weakly. 

As  she  spoke,  he  arose. 

"Just  a  minute,  dear,"  he  breathed,  and  then  he  left 
the  room. 

For  what  seemed  a  decade  of  time,  Patricia  watched 
the  door  for  his  return;  finally  exhausted,  she  slept.  A 
touch  on  her  wrist  awakened  her.  A  strange  man,  whom 
she  recollected  having  seen  in  many  of  her  dark  dreams, 
was  smiling  down  upon  her. 

"Feel  pretty  chipper,  little  lady?"  he  queried. 

"I'd — I'd  like  my  brother,  Michael,"  she  answered 
feverishly.  "Has  Barney  gone  for  him?" 

"He  sure  has,  and  he'll  fetch  him  along  soon,"  was  the 
medical  man's  assurance,  "but  you'd  better  trot  off  to 
sleep  now." 


ioo    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

One  morning  about  a  week  later,  Barney  opened  the 
door  of  his  sister's  room  and  stole  softly  in.  Reproach- 
fully she  snatched  his  hand  as  he  sat  down.  It  had  been 
so  many  long  days  since  she  had  seen  him  last,  and 
Michael  had  not  been  there,  either;  the  Pater  had  not 
come,  and  every  time  the  door  had  opened,  she  had  ex- 
pected to  see  Aunt  Addie's  smiling  face. 

"  Barney  darling,  where' ve  you  been  all  this  time,"  she 
choked,  fumbling  for  her  handkerchief. 

"I  had  to  go  away  for  a  while,"  he  evaded.  "You're 
a  heap  better  now,  the  doctor  says." 

"Where's  Michael?"  she  asked. 

"He  can't  come — now,"  he  mumbled. 

"  Why  can't  he  come?  Why?"  she  insisted.  "  Has  he 
gone  away  with  a  company?  Why  didn't  he  come  and 
see  me  before  he  left?  .  .  .  I've  been  terribly  ill,  haven't 
I,  Barney?  What  made  me  sick?" 

The  muscles  of  Barney's  throat  stiffened  and  to  relax 
them,  he  swallowed  repeatedly. 

"I've  been  trying  to  remember  something  ever  since 
you  left  that  day,  dear,"  she  mourned.  "It's  just  back 
in  my  head  somewhere,  but — but —  What  made  you 
leave  me  so  long,  Barney?  I've  asked  everybody  to  get 
you.  They  always  said,  'Yes,  yes,'  but  they  didn't." 

Her  hot,  dry  lips  touched  the  back  of  his  hand  caress- 
ingly, and  a  sense  of  helplessness  settled  upon  him.  How 
infinitely  sweet  and  fragile  she  was!  Her  loveliness  had 
been  enhanced  by  these  weeks  of  struggle  against  the 
demons  of  illness  who  had  sought  to  destroy  her. 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  cry  or  get  nervous,  if  I  talk 
to  you,"  he  begged,  smoothing  her  hair.  "The  doctor 
will  root  me  out  of  here,  if  I  make  you  worse." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  promise,"  she  murmure,d  her  lips  trem- 
bling. "  Barney,  where's  Michael?  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
dear.  I  wish  you  would." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     101 

She  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  alertly  suspicious. 
Her  gray  eyes  searched  his  beseechingly.  Barney  was 
withholding  something  she  ought  to  know. 

"Pat,  lie  down,"  he  entreated.  "No,  you  can't  even 
sit  up  that  much.  If  you're  not  careful,  you'll  have  me 
shot  out  of  here  instanter.  Listen,  honey!  Yes,  you 
must  listen!  That's  why  I  had  to  stay  away  all  this 
time.  You  worked  yourself  into  a  fever." 

"I'm  trying  to  remember  why  Michael  doesn't  come," 
she  gasped,  collapsing  on  the  pillow.  "That's  all,  Barney 
dear." 

Tenderly  he  put  his  arms  under  her  and  held  her  so 
he  could  watch  her  face.  Then, 

"The  King  can't  get  here,"  he  said  huskily.  "Dearie, 
do — do  you  remember — Fatty  Funny  Breeches?" 

Patricia's  lids  widened  in  wonderment.  Yes,  of  course, 
she  remembered  Arthur  Brown!  He  was  in  the  act  with 
Babe  and  Billy  Foster.  Then,  suddenly  as  if  she  were 
repeating  a  familiar  fact,  she  said: 

"Fatty  Funny  Breeches  is  dead!  It  seems  as  if — as 
if —  Did  somebody  hurt — hurt  Michael?  Barney, — 
now — now  I  remember!" 

Then  the  past  swept  through  her  mind,  unreeling  itself 
from  resurrected  memory  like  a  picture  moving  across 
a  screen. 

"Paddy,"  he  said  brokenly,  "the  jury — O'Kelleron — 
Patrick  O'Kelleron  convicted  the  King." 

"Oh,  Barney,"  she  breathed. 

"O'Kelleron  convicted  the  King,  Paddy,"  he  repeated. 
"Everybody  was  against  Mike.  But  listen,  Paddy! 
Hear  what  I  say!  He — he  only  got  second  degree,  and 
it  might  have  been  much  worse,  a  whole  lot  worse!" 

The  clean,  white  room  faded  from  her  sight.  She 
murmured  the  name  "Patrick  O'Kelleron"  several  times. 
Ah,  she  had  heard  Martin  Brewer  speak  of  him.  She 


102     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

remembered  his  mother,  too,  the  haughty  woman  who  did 
not  approve  of  theatrical  people.  But — second  degree 
meant  prison!  Then  Michael  was  in  prison !  She  would 
go  instantly  and  fetch  him  because  he  did  not  belong 
there !  She  struggled  up  as  if  to  carry  out  her  intention 
immediately. 

"Paddy,  dear,  you  mustn't  act  that  way,"  Barney 
supplicated.  "Oh,  don't  get  down  sick  again.  Now,  if 
you  do,  we'll  all  go  to  pieces.  We've  taken  an  appeal, 
and — and,  maybe,  we'll  have  Mike  yet.  But  you  and 
I  have  got  to  turn  around  and  begin  again;  we  must  for 
Yum-yum's  sake.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  honey! 
I  can't  stand  it!  It's  all  been  most  terribly  awful! 
Be  still  while  I  tell  you  about  it." 

They  were  silent  a  few  minutes  after  he  had  imparted 
Michael's  dear  messages. 

"Why  are  Yum-yum  and  father  living  at  Aunt 
Addie's?"  asked  Patricia  after  a  while,  sharply  startled 
by  a  thought.  "Why  doesn't  the  Pater  come  to  see  me?" 
Then,  noting  the  sorrow  that  swept  like  a  storm  over 
her  brother's  face,  she  cried,  "Something's  happened  to 
the  Pater,  Barney,  and  you  kept  it  from  me!" 

"He's  dead!  O'Kelleron  killed  him!  O'Kelleron  did 
that,  too,"  he  told  her  on  a  bitter  breath.  "That — that 
man's  more  of  a  murderer  than  the  person  who  did  for 
Funny  Breeches,  and  I  told  him  so  to  his  face." 

Then  he  burst  into  tears,  and  the  two  heartbroken 
young  things  clung  to  each  other  until  the  nurse  came 
and  sent  Barney  away. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     103 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  day  after  Thanksgiving  was  sharp  and  briskly 
cold,  and  there  were  flurries  of  snow  in  the  air. 

From  the  Grand  Central  Station  Patricia  walked 
through  Forty-second  Street  in  the  direction  of  Martin 
Brewer's  offices.  She  regarded  her  surroundings  as  re- 
motely foreign,  much  as  if  she  were  a  stranger  in  New 
York.  This  was  her  first  visit  to  the  metropolis  since  she 
had  been  carried  to  Aunt  Addie's  home  in  Balmville  to 
convalesce. 

On  the  corner  of  Broadway  she  paused,  torn  with  heart 
sickness.  When  last  she  had  crossed  that  spot,  the  Pater 
had  been  with  Yum-yum.  Now,  he  was  lying  in  the 
Cedar  Hill  Cemetery,  in  the  marble  sepulcher  reared  to 
receive  the  Pepperday  dead.  She  shivered  as  a  gust  of 
wind  swept  past  on  its  journey  southward.  In  bitterness 
of  spirit  she  reasoned  that  Michael  would  be  better  off 
alongside  their  father  than  where  he  was.  Her  king  was 
buried  alive  for  twenty  years. 

Michael  had  loved  New  York,  and  so  had  she,  but  how 
altered  and  gloomy  it  appeared  after  her  weeks  of 
absence.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her  before  how  narrow 
and  soiled  Broadway  really  was,  with  its  files  of  human 
beings  racing  madly  around  the  theatrical  district  in  pur- 
suit of  fame  and  fortune  which  now  seemed  to  her  un- 
obtainable. Her  desire  to  top  the  ladder  of  golden 
opinion  had  broken  with  Michael's  incarceration.  Once 
spirited  ambitions  were  lifeless,  and  she  felt  oddly  out  of 
place  in  this  world  of  men  and  women  bent  on  their  own 
momentous  affairs. 


104    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

To  her  New  York  was  no  longer  the  "City  of  God," 
made  glad  with  music  and  laughter  and  song.  Then  by 
an  association  of  ideas,  tangled  fantastically  together  in 
her  vivid  fancy,  she  likened  Broadway  to  a  monstrous, 
crooked  vein  in  a  sick  body. 

She  remembered  Yum-yum's  injunction  that  morning. 

"God  will  help  us  if  we  ask  Him,  Paddy  dear.  He 
knows  what  is  best  for  us." 

If  there  were  a  God  who  mixed  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
then  how  unnecessarily  cruel  He  had  been!  What  evil 
thing  had  her  father  done  in  all  his  kindly  life  that  he 
should  be  slaughtered  without  a  moment  in  which  to  say 
even  his  prayers?  Nothing!  Of  that  she  was  sure! 
And  Yum-yum!  Certainly  under  the  disciplining  of 
Heaven,  she  had  reaped  a  blank  loneliness!  Patricia 
wondered  whether,  if  her  mother  knew  where  Michael 
was,  or  that  a  man  walked  the  earth  who  had  killed  the 
Pater,  she  would  still  insist  that  there  was  a  Heavenly 
Father  who  fitted  every  back  to  its  own  burden,  and  that 
underneath  the  Pepperdays  were  "the  everlasting  arms." 

Her  blood  seemed  to  congeal  as  the  name,  "  Patrick 
O'Kelleron,"  stung  the  tip  of  her  tongue.  She  whispered 
it  over,  fury  rising  within  her  until  she  seemed  to  grow 
taller  by  inches.  Oh,  how  tortuous  hate  had  racked  her 
against  her  father's  destroyer,  hate  which  had  eclipsed 
the  sunny  laughter  in  her  lustrous  gray  eyes  and  left 
within  their  granite  depths  somber  shadows! 

As  she  stood  perfectly  still,  hopelessness  as  black  as  the 
inside  of  the  tomb  that  had  engulfed  Madison  Pepper- 
day  descended  upon  her  soul.  Patrick  O'Kelleron  was 
somewhere  within  the  boundaries  of  this  great  city.  He 
might  even  be  within  range  of  her  vision.  Her  small 
white  teeth  came  together  savagely  as  she  recalled 
Barney's  reiterated  recriminations: 
"He's  a  devil,  Paddy,  that  O'Kelleron  is!  When  the 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     105 

Pater  dropped  dead  at  his  feet,  his  eyes  were  as  black 
as  coals." 

Since  then  Patrick  O'Kelleron  had  stood  incisively  in 
her  mind  as  a  black-eyed  Lucifer,  "as  a  roaring  lion 
who  walketh  about,  seeking  whom  he  may  devour." 

She  gazed  down  Broadway  and  pictured  herself  facing 
him  in  her  desolated  daughterhood.  To  do  that  had  been 
one  of  her  errands  into  town  that  day;  she  would  ask 
Martin  Brewer  to  arrange  the  interview. 

"Patricia!" 

Whirling,  as  a  voice  pronounced  her  name,  she  saw 
Edward  Blake  standing  at  her  elbow.  Her  lovely  face 
went  shades  paler,  as  she  regarded  him  steadily  with  a 
wide  unflickering  stare.  He  thrust  out  his  hand,  but  she 
did  not  see  it.  In  the  trail  of  this  man's  misusage  of  her 
father  had  appeared  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  the  fiend  in- 
carnate. Ah,  the  two  of  them  had  laid  out  the  path  of 
evil  over  which  the  Pater  had  been  scourged  into  Cedar 
Hill  Cemetery. 

"God,  how  sick  you  look,  Paddy,"  Blake  exclaimed. 
"You  oughtn't  to  be  out  in  such  weather.  Didn't  you 
know  any  better?  You'll  catch  your  death  of  cold. 
Come  up  to  the  Claridge  and  have  some  tea." 

It  was  then  that  the  flood  gates  suddenly  opened  and 
poured  the  wrath  of  ages  into  her  bosom.  She  was  con- 
vulsed with  primeval  energy.  She  wanted  to  strike  him 
dead.  She  was  begging  with  mental  swiftness  that  she 
might  see  him  and  Patrick  O'Kelleron  writhe  in  the  flam- 
ing jaws  of  the  same  hell  into  which  they  had  sledge- 
hammered  the  Pepperdays!  For  them  she  would 
refine  the  cruel  flames  to  the  points  of  needle  barbs! 
Glorious  visions  of  demons  tormented  with  their  own 
torture ! 

Then  she  laughed  directly  into  Blake's  face. 


106    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Go  back  to  that  infamous  O'Kelleron,"  she  lashed  out 
at  him,  "and  tell  him  he'll  soon  be  where  the  Pater  is!" 

With  that  she  turned  and  fled  as  if  she  were  escaping 
a  veritable  Mephistopheles. 

"Why,  Paddy  dear,  you  told  me  over  the  'phone  you 
were  strong  enough  to  come  to  the  city,"  Martin  Brewer 
charged,  a  frown  fretting  his  brow,  "and  here  I  find  you 
not  only  as  thin  as  a  June  shad,  but  you  look  something 
dreadful.  I  ought  to  have  run  out  to  Balmville  instead 
of  your  coming  in." 

Still  trembling  in  every  nerve  from  her  encounter  with 
Blake,  she  allowed  Martin  to  place  her  in  a  chair. 

"  I'm  perfectly  all  right,  Martin,"  she  murmured, 
"but  you  don't  look  extra  well  yourself.  I  talked  a  minute 
on  the  telephone  with  Benny  last  night.  He  asked  me 
to  come  up  to-day,  but  I  said  I  would  the  next  time  I  was 
in.  He  told  me  he  was  miserable." 

To  this  Martin  agreed  with  a  wave  of  utter  despond- 
ency. 

"Ben  never  spoke  a  truer  word,"  he  replied,  "and  the 
worst  of  it  is  I  don't  know  when  he'll  be  any  better. 
Doctor  Blair,  the  spine  specialist,  examined  him,  and  he 
insists  the  boy's  nervous  system  must  be  bolstered  up 
before  an  operation.  Ben  hates  even  to  hear  it  men- 
tioned." Then,  as  if  he  had  had  enough  of  the  subject, 
he  changed  it.  "How  was  your  mother  when  you  left 
her?" 

"  She's  as  well  as  can  be  expected.  But  it's  been 
dreadfully  hard  to  deceive  her  about  Mike!  Aunt 
Addie— " 

"Yes,  Paddy,  yes,  yes,  how  is  your  Aunt  Addie?" 

She  considered  him  thoughtfully. 

"Martin,  did  you  and  Aunt  Addie  have  a  quarrel  of 
any  kind?"  she  asked. 

"No,  Lady  Pat! "    The  negative  was  almost  gruff. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     107 

"I've  wondered  what  did  happen,"  she  ruminated. 
"Anyway,  in  spite  of  the  doctor's  orders,  Aunt  Addie 
argues  we  were  wrong  to  make  up  the  tale  about  Michael's 
going  abroad.  She  says,  'After  every  lie  comes  a  day 
of  reckoning,'  and  I  suppose  it's  true." 

"A  day  of  reckoning"  repeated  itself  somewhere 
within  him  in  a  warning  voice,  sonorous  and  full  of  mean- 
ing. Then  he  realized  that  his  day  of  reckoning  would 
be  with  Adelina  Pepperday.  But  he  found  no  speakable 
words  of  affirmation  or  denial,  so  he  remained  silent. 

"Last  night  Aunt  Addie  begged  me  over  and  over  to 
tell  her,"  continued  Patricia.  "All  day  mother  did  her 
best  to  act  happy  when  her  heart  was  breaking,  and  I 
couldn't  make  myself  do  it,  she  seemed  so  sad!" 
Patricia's  gray  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "Martin  dear,  it 
seems  I'm  lost  in  a  black  place  and  can't  find  my  way 
out!  I  went  up  to  Sing  Sing  to  see  Michael  last  Monday, 
and  he  thinks  the  same  as  Aunt  Addie,  but — but — how- 
how  could  I?  You  see,  this  was  Yum-yum's  first  Thanks- 
giving without  the  Pater." 

"Don't  talk  about  it  any  more,  Paddy,"  broke  in 
Martin  with  bluntness.  "It  won't  improve  your  health 
any  to  battle  with  these  things  all  the  time.  I  say,  I've 
been  over  your  letter — about  fifty  times,  I  guess." 

He  had  switched  into  a  new  train  of  thought  abrubtly, 
purposely.  Such  nerve-racking  subjects  were  impossible 
to  drag  to  finality.  He  could  give  her  no  advice.  He  had 
no  palliative  against  her  grief. 

Yes,  indeed,  there  was  one  thing  he  could  do — Benny! 
He  suddenly  leaned  forward  on  his  table,  his  cigar 
falling  to  the  floor.  Stooping  to  pick  it  up,  he  answered 
the  "still,  small  voice"  with  tenacious  stubbornness,  "No, 
I'll  not  hand  Ben  over — not  yet! 

"I've  been  thinking  a  lot  of  you  to-day,  Pat,"  he  said. 
"The  fact  is  I've  thought  of  little  else.  It  would  be  easy 


io8     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

enough  to  get  you  the  stock  job  you  want,  but  I  can't 
do  it — not  now,  since  I've  seen  you!  You've  got  to  rest. 
You  can't  work  in  the  condition  you're  in  with  my 
consent — not  while  I  have  a  dollar  to  my  name.  Why, 
child,  you  can  scarcely  hold  up  your  head ! " 

Bravely  she  strove  to  restore  the  stolid  calm  that  had 
perished  in  her  rage  against  Patrick  O'Kelleron  and 
Edward  Blake. 

"But  I  want  to  work,  Martin,"  she  choked.  "Oh,  I 
so  appreciate  the  friend  you've  been  to  us,  but  getting  me 
a  position  now,  away  from  New  York  where  I  won't  be 
known  as  'Patricia  Pepperday,'  and  where  I  can  earn 
some  money  is  the  greatest  kindness  you  can  do." 

By  main  force  he  kept  down  the  impulse  to  cry  out 
that  he  was  not  her  friend — that  he  was  her  enemy;  he 
was  a  traitor,  an  iniquitous  traitor. 

"I  hope  you  understand  I  don't  want  to  bother  you  too 
much,"  she  pleaded,  "  but,  somehow,  I  thought  of  you  as 
the  one  man  who  could  and  would  help  me." 

"And  so  I  will,  my  sweet,  but  not  as  you  say  you  want 
it.  There's  more  than  one  way  to  skin  a  cat.  Now, 
listen  to  my  plan!  I  know  just  what  the  doctor  wants 
you  to  do,  for  I  talked  with  him  over  the  'phone  after  I 
received  your  letter.  He  says  that  you  must  live  in  a 
different  climate.  That's  as  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log,  but 
it  doesn't  say  you  must  work.  Now,  me — why— I " 

She  interrupted  him  by  struggling  to  her  feet.  With 
both  hands  clasped  in  his,  she  insisted,  chin  trembling: 

"Nothing  will  help  me  but  work!  Nothing,  Martin! 
I  can't  be  idle !  I  mustn't  think !  I'll  go  crazy  if  I  do ! " 
She  paused  and  then,  "I  could  have  gone  to  some  of  the 
agents,  I  suppose — " 

'If  you'd  done  that,  Pat,  I'd  have  been  mortally  of- 
fended," he  interposed  bitterly.  "It's  a  sure  thing,  the 
job,  I  mean — if  I  can't  make  you  change  your  mind." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     109 

"Well,  I  shan't  change  my  mind,"  she  maintained. 
"Get  it  for  me  if  you  really  can.  Mother's  quite  recon- 
ciled to  my  going  away  for  awhile,  and  Aunt  Addie'll  take 
the  best  care  of  her.  You've  already  given  Barney  a 
position,  and  I  want  one,  too,  please,  Martin!" 

Of  a  sudden  he  dropped  her  hands  and,  walking  to  the 
window,  stared  out  unseeingly.  He  had  come  to  a  momen- 
tous decision.  He  would  ask  Patricia  one  question,  the 
answer  to  which  he  had  vainly  attempted  to  extort  from 
Benny  when  his  conscience  had  clamored  for  justice. 

Circling  on  his  heel,  he  faced  her  with  an  inward  tremor 
which  did  not  appear  on  his  mask-like  countenance. 

"  I've  been  wondering,  Paddy,"  he  began  with  parched 
tongue,  "whether  every  one's  been  talked  to  that  hap- 
pened to  be  at  Cavendish's  the  night  Brown  was  done 
for?" 

He  spoke  unlike  himself,  much  as  if  he  were  forcing 
the  words  to  utterance  against  his  will. 

Why  had  he  brought  up  that  subject  now?  Patricia 
leaned  forward  and  stared  at  him.  She  did  know  that 
behind  his  troubled  eyes,  his  brain  was  begging  for  a 
negative  reply.  He  wanted,  oh,  how  he  longed  to  hear 
her  say,  "No,  not  everybody.  Benny  was  with  me." 
Those  few  words  would  send  him  into  the  seventh  heaven- 
of  relief.  But  she  did  not  say  them.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  that  that  far-off  midnight  hour  was  of  vital  im- 
portance to  him  or  any  one  else  now. 

He  was  putting  her  off  about  the  stock  job,  was  the 
thought  that  sent  Benny's  visit  to  Cavendish's  completely 
out  of  her  mind. 

"You've  asked  a  perfectly  useless  question  because  you 
don't  want  to  talk  any  more  about  helping  me,"  she 
asserted,  her  voice  breaking.  "Well,  I  can't  blame  you, 
Martin,  and  don't.  Ever  since  you've  known  me,  I've 
been  a  nuisance,  I  can  see  that." 


no    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

For,  perhaps,  twenty  seconds  Brewer  remained  silent. 
Then  Benny  had  not  been  with  her  Labor  Day  night! 
That  established  to  a  certainty  with  whom  he  had  been. 
Fatty  Funny  Breeches!  And  he  had  imagined  so  often 
that  Patricia  would  let  light  in  on  his  problems.  He  had 
waited  for  that!  He  would  have  to  start  over  from 
another  angle,  but  where — how? 

"You're  more  than  wrong  in  your  conclusion,  my 
Paddy,"  he  protested  finally  as  he  walked  back  to  her. 
"You  shall  have  anything  you  want.  If  it's  stock,  then 
stock  it  is.  A  year's  experience,  learning  a  couple  of 
plays  a  week,  will  prepare  you  for  Broadway  in  the 
legitimate.  That's  been  my  idea  from  the  first  for  you 
Pepperdays." 

At  his  words  she  went  suddenly  limp,  and,  cursing 
himself  for  his  tactlessness,  he  hurried  on,  "The  highest 
class  company  where  I  have  any  influence  is  in  Butte 
City.  I  know  Alf  Carraby,  the  manager,  and  he's  wired 
me  twice  to  send  him  a  lead  from  New  York.  Want  to 
go  to  Montana?" 

She  snatched  at  the  suggestion  as  if  he  were  offering 
her  the  greatest  boon  on  earth. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  do!  And,  I'll  never  be  able  to  thank 
,you — never — never, — Martin  dear ! " 

"Have  you  picked  out  a  name  you'd  like  to  play 
under?"  he  asked  with  effort.  "  Give  it  to  me  so  I  can 
put  it  in  the  telegram." 

She  considered  a  while. 

"Yes!  I've  decided  to  appear  simply  as  Patricia 
Rushmore.  That  was  Yum-yum's  name  before  she 
married  the  Pater." 

His  hand  was  on  the  door  knob  as  she  ceased  speaking. 

"Rushmore  will  answer  as  well  as  any,"  he  said  over 
his  shoulder.  "Wait  a  minute,  honey,  and  I'll  run  out 
and  wire  Butte." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     in 

"  Well,  I've  sent  Carraby  a  day  letter,"  he  explained 
when  he  returned  a  few  minutes  later.  "I  told  him  I 
was  going  to  ship  him  the  prettiest  lead  I  knew,  and  I'd 
be  infernally  obliged  to  him  if  he  didn't  work  her  to 
death.  Now,  that's  all  for  the  present.  Say,  Pat, 
come  out  for  a  bite." 

Scraps  of  conversation,  far  wide  of  their  problems, 
spanned  the  short  distance  to  the  Hotel  Astor.  Then, 
when  they  had  taken  a  table,  and  he  had  argued  her  into 
ordering  something  other  than  tea  and  toast,  he  sat  back 
and  looked  keenly  into  her  face. 

"You  don't  eat  enough,  child,"  he  said. 

"  I  can't  eat  when  I'm  so  unhappy,"  she  told  him, 
"  and,  Martin,  there's  one  other  thing  I  want  you  to  do. 
It  won't  be  difficult,  I'm  sure." 

"Spill  it,"  he  directed.  "I  told  you  what's  mine  is 
yours." 

"I  meant  to  put  it  in  my  letter,"  she  went  on,  "but 
then  I  thought,  if  I  saw  you,  I  could  make  it  plainer. 
Martin,  you  know  Mr.  O'Kelleron  well  enough  to  ask 
him  an  intimate  question,  don't  you?" 

At  that  moment  her  veil  caught  on  the  leaf  of  a  large 
fern  back  of  her,  and  if  she  had  not  been  busy  disentang- 
ling it,  she  would  have  noticed  the  dread  that  pinched 
his  face.  However,  when  she  centered  her  gaze  upon  him 
interrogatively,  he  was  nodding  his  head,  no  traces  of  his 
mental  ague  apparent. 

"Sure,  sure  I  do!"  he  replied.     "Why?" 

She  made  no  effort  to  cloak  her  agitation  as  she  said: 

"I  wish  I  could  find  out  what  he  has  against  Mike. 
You  were  in  the  court  room  when — when  he  convicted 
him,  weren't  you?" 

"Yes,"  he  admitted  in  reluctance.  Then  he  ejaculated, 
"Say,  good  God,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Paddy?" 

"Barney  told  me  about  how  vile  Mr.  O'Kelleron  was," 


ii2     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

she  imparted  swiftly,  a  line  drawn  sharply  between  her 
brows.  "But  it  isn't  possible  for  any  man,  no  matter 
how  wicked  he  is  at  heart,  to  prosecute  a  boy  as  he  did 
Michael  just  for  the  love  of  it.  Could  you  arrange  for 
me  to  see  him — to-day?  I  want  to  ask  him  myself  what 
the  King  ever  did  to  him  that  I  don't  know.  He  might 
tell  me  when  he  wouldn't  you.  I'll  make  him!  I  must 
see  him,  I  simply  must,  Martin!  I  can  never  be  happy 
again  unless  I  do." 

So  that  was  the  way  the  wind  blew!  was  uppermost  in 
Martin's  dumfounded  mind. 

"The  King  didn't  do  a  thing  to  O'Kelleron,  not  one 
single,  blessed,  damned  thing,  Paddy,"  he  explained 
aloud.  "You  can  see  that  for  yourself,  if  you  use  your 
reason.  Now,  it's  this  way:  Patrick  only  did  what  he 
thought  was  his  duty. — Listen,  dearie!  Don't  stare  at 
me  like  that!  I'm  telling  you  the  truth.  A  lawyer's  a 
lawyer,  and  you  couldn't  turn  O'Kelleron  from  a  thing 
he  thought  was  right  any  more  than  you  could  lift  the 
Times  Building. — Lord,  you  haven't  set  up  a  hate  against 
him,  child?  Well,  I  swear,  you  have!  Don't  do  it, 
sweet,  don't  do  it!  Hating  another  fellow  only  brings 
bad  to  yourself!  I've  known  Patrick  O'Kelleron  for 
years,  and  he's  deep  down  good,  as  good  as  gold." 

As  if  she  had  received  a  mortal  wound,  she  shrank  back. 

"But  I  must  see  him,"  she  craved.  "You  must  take  me 
to  him.  If  you  don't,  I'll  go  myself." 

"I  can't,  Patricia,"  he  returned  with  decision.  "I 
couldn't  if  I  wanted  to.  He's  left  New  York  to  be  gone 
for  months.  Now  you  want  to  know  where  he  is,  don't 
you?  I  can  see  that  without  half  trying.  Believe  me, 
Paddy  dear,  when  I  say  that  I  don't  know.  Oh,  my 
girl!  It's  been  heaping  up  things  against  O'Kelleron 
that's  put  that  look  into  your  eyes.  You'll  be  right  down 
sick  if  you  don't  quit  worrying. — Listen,  little  girl,  I  beg 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     113 

of  you  to  forget  about  him,  and  let  time  ease  you  up 
some." 

"Forget  about  him!"  Forget  Patrick  O'Kelleron! 
When  the  hot,  coursing  blood  froze  to  ice  in  her  veins,  ah, 
when  she  was  beside  the  Pater,  stark  dead,  cold  and 
buried,  then,  perhaps,  she  would  forget  Patrick  O'Kel- 
leron, but  never  until  then. 

"I  want  to  live  always — just  to  hate  him,"  she  panted, 
almost  swooning.  "Martin,  take  me  out  of  here.  I  don't 
want  anything  to  eatl  I  can't  breathe!" 


ii4    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THEREAFTER  forty-eight  hours  moved  with  funereal 
pace  to  that  period  of  time  when  Patricia  was  ready  to 
start  on  her  long,  lonely  journey  across  the  continent.  At 
length  she  had  been  forced  to  believe  Martin  Brewer's 
report  that  Patrick  O'Kelleron  was  not  in  New  York. 
That  she  would  be  obliged  to  leave  the  city  without  de- 
livering to  him  the  results  of  the  sinister  workings  of  her 
mind  had  never  been  a  part  of  her  calculations.  She  had 
carried  out  her  threat  to  Martin  and  had  made  several 
attempts  to  get  in  touch  with  O'Kelleron  by  telephone. 
Each  time,  however,  she  had  received  the  answer,  "Out 
of  town!" 

Thus  she  had  lived  through  the  measured  minutes  of 
those  two  never-to-be-forgotten  days  as  one  bereft  of 
hope. 

During  the  last  midnight  vigil,  when  sleep  refused  to 
close  her  scalded  lids,  she  had  turned  aside  from  the  path 
of  faith  and  petition.  Because  she  clung  stubbornly  to 
her  racking  animosity  against  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  the 
shrine  of  her  devotion  crumbled  to  dust. 

The  death  knell  of  her  girlhood  sounded  when  she  real- 
ized that  the  confines  of  her  soul  were  too  narrow  to 
cherish  a  vengeful  hate  and  the  image  of  the  smiling,  red- 
haired  stranger  she  had  met  in  Blackberry  Lane.  Her 
heart,  once  a  garden  of  love  flowers,  was  now  envenomed 
with  a  desire  for  the  blood  of  the  man  who  had  disinte- 
grated the  Pepperdays,  and,  oh,  how  often  she  declared 
with  vehemence  that  Patrick  O'Kelleron's  life  was  none 
too  precious  to  pay  his  debt  to  the  Pater. 

Consequently,  when  the  dawn  filtered  its  gray  over  a 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     115 

frozen  world,  her  loftiness  of  purpose,  her  far-reaching 
ambitions  for  good  were  thrown  to  the  worm  that  dieth 
not. 

Four  days  after  Thanksgiving  she  was  ready  to  leave 
New  York  with  no  one  at  the  station  but  Martin  Brewer 
to  wish  her  Godspeed. 

"I'm  always  on  tap  for  you,  Paddy,"  he  told  her,  pro- 
foundly stirred.  "Wire  me  at  every  stop  you  make. 
And  don't  worry,  honey!  Smile  it  through,  little  pal!" 

But  their  separation  furnished  no  occasion  for  smiles 
to  either  one  of  them.  She  was  on  her  way  to  a  strange 
country,  to  live  among  strange  people,  broken  in  health 
and  spirits;  and  he  was  returning  to  a  gloomy  mansion  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  where  neither  money  nor  luxury  could  put 
cheer  into  his  adored  son. 

Alf  Carraby,  Brewer's  hearty,  good-natured  friend, 
met  Patricia  the  evening  she  arrived  in  Butte  City. 

"I  say,  Miss  Rushmore,"  he  said  later  over  the  supper 
table  at  the  Thornton  Hotel,  "you  better  take  some  time 
off  till  you  get  back  your  land  legs.  The  work  in  my 
theater's  hard,  even  for  the  best  of  them.  We  put  on 
only  Broadway  successes,  and  they're  mostly  teasers." 

"So  Mr.  Brewer  told  me,"  answered  Patricia.  "But 
I'm  much  stronger  than  I  look.  I'd  like  you  to  let  me 
have  my  first  part  to-night,  if  you  please.  I  understand 
the  lead  you  have  now— 

"Just  like  all  the  test,"  broke  in  Carraby.  "She  wants 
to  get  married!  A  fellow  gets  hold  of  a  good  one — then, 
zip,  she's  gone!" 

"You'll  have  no  trouble  with  me  that  way,"  she 
hastened  to  assure  him.  "I  have  but  one  idea, — to  reach 
the  top  of  my  profession ! " 

As  she  spoke,  her  face  flooded  with  color. 

"Gee,  but  you're  some  beauty  when  you  blush,  little 
girl,"  complimented  Carraby,  laughing.  "Keep  the  rouge 


n6     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

pot  at  your  elbow,  Miss  Rushmore,  till  the  mountains 
color  you  up  a  bit.  I  bet  your  mind's  eye  was  on  your 
picture  peerin'  out  of  the  bill  boards  and  the  like — 
then— eh?" 

"I  think  it  was,"  she  admitted  in  far-away  tones. 

But  she  did  not  tell  him  that  she  expected  Butte  to 
place  her  feet  upon  the  first  rung  of  fame's  ladder  which 
impetus  would  carry  her  into  Patrick  O'Kelleron's  orbit. 
Money,  popularity,  influence  were  what  she  needed  to 
bring  her  plans  to  fruition.  She  drew  a  deep  sigh  when 
she  thought  how  long  she  would  have  to  wait. 

"You'd  best  go  up  to  roost  now,  girlie,"  he  suggested, 
beckoning  the  waiter  forward.  "You're  clean  tuckered 
out.  I'll  start  you  in  to-morrow  morning." 

Then  succeeded  three  weeks  of  ceaseless  labor  which 
heaped  upon  Patricia  Rushmore  laurels  many  and  to  be 
envied. 

The  rugged,  western  mountaineers  accepted  her  as  one 
of  their  own  family  in  a  trice,  so  to  speak.  Much  of  her 
appealing  charm  for  her  new  admirers  lay  in  her  pensive, 
slate-colored  eyes.  Even  her  actor  friends  outdid  each 
other  in  their  endeavors  to  tempt  a  rare  smile  to  the  lips 
of  their  leading  lady.  And,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  not 
one  of  her  co-workers  felt  a  pang  of  jealousy  when  she 
was  crowned  with  local  tribute. 

Impossible  was  it  for  any  one  to  find  fault  with  a  sad 
child  who  seemed  to  live  in  a  remote  world  of  her  own, 
and  who  passed  over  praise  with  small  comment. 

Thus  the  weeks  passed  until  once  more  Christmas  rolled 
out  of  the  cycle  of  days  to  confront  Patricia  with  hallowed 
memories.  She  writhed  in  the  solitude  of  her  room  that 
morning,  when  she  recalled  the  signficance  of  this  once 
dear  and  sacred  time.  Now,  she  no  longer  believed  in 
its  symbols.  Now,  she  denied  place  in  her  storehouse 
of  recollections  for  Yum-yum's  teachings  of  the  Manger 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     117 

Babe;  and  the  story  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  she  ranked 
with  fairy  tales  and  fables.  Christmas  and  its  joys  were 
dead  and  gone,  hidden  behind  the  walls  of  Sing  Sing 
prison  and  buried  in  the  vault  at  Cedar  Hill  Cemetery. 

"You  aren't  listening  to  a  word  I  say,  Patricia,"  pouted 
Ruth  Rowland  that  evening  from  her  position  at  the 
make-up  table.  "I've  been  talking  a  straight  five  minutes, 
and  you're  a  million  miles  away." 

The  two  girls  occupied  the  same  dressing  room  in  the 
rear  of  the  Carraby  Stock  theater  and  were  making  ready 
for  the  second  Christmas  performance. 

Startled  out  of  her  reverie,  Patricia  glanced  at  her 
young  understudy. 

"Forgive  me,  please,  Ruthie,"  she  begged.  "I  was 
thinking  of  a  lot  of  things.  There!  Now,  I'm  lis- 
tening." 

"I  was  saying  I  think  he's  a  perfect  beauty,"  Miss 
Rowland  repeated.  "He  was  only  three  rows  back  this 
afternoon,  and  I'm  sure  he's  the  best-looking  man  in  the 
world.  The  very  idea  of  your  not  seeing  him!  If  I  had 
red  hair  like  his,  I'd  never  wear  a  hat."  She  leaned  on  a 
dimpled  hand  and,  across  an  array  of  cosmetics,  spoke  to 
her  own  mirrored  reflection,  "He's  been  to  three  per- 
formances this  week,  angel  face.  What  do  you  think, 
Pat?  Does  he  come  to  see  you  or  me?" 

"You,  of  course,  dear,"  Patricia  decided  without  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

Again  Miss  Rowland  smiled  knowingly  at  herself. 

"I  think,  perhaps,  he  does,"  she  beamed.  "Lordy,  I 
hope  so!  I  do  adore  big  men,  and  he — why,  he  can't 
sit  in  an  ordinary  seat.  His  legs  stick  out  ten  yards  in 
the  aisle. — I  wish  Alfy  would  find  out  who  he  is.  I'm 
dying  of  curiosity." 

A  man  shouted  the  half -hour  in  the  corridor;  then 
heavy  steps  paused  outside  the  dressing-room  door. 


u8    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Can  I  come  in,  Ruth?"  called  a  voice  through  the 
keyhole. 

"Surest  thing  you  know,  Alf,"  consented  Miss  How- 
land,  and  she  turned  to  greet  the  manager  as  he  bustled 
in.  "Hello,  old  thing!  Speak  of  angels!  I  was  just 
pronouncing  your  royal  name." 

Alf  Carraby  chuckled  contentedly  as  he  looked  first 
at  one  girl,  then  at  the  other.  Of  late,  in  excusable  con- 
ceit, he  had  boasted  that  even  the  New  York  stage  could 
not  produce  a  match  for  Patricia  Rushmore  and  Ruth 
Rowland. 

Playfully  he  tweaked  Ruth's  ear,  laughed  with  her  and 
sat  down  on  a  hat  box. 

"Noticed  a  big  fellow  out  front,  chicks?"  he  began. 

"A  mountain  of  bone  and  muscle  — " 

"With  red  hair  on  his  noodle?"  burst  in  Ruth.  "Say, 
Alf,  I  should  think  I  had.  I  was  just  talking  to  Patricia 
about  him.  But  she  lives  so  much  inside  of  herself  that 
she  hasn't  even  given  him  a  squint.  Think  of  that! 
Mercy  me,  who  is  he?" 

In  mock  seriousness,  as  if  he  were  divulging  an  impor- 
tant secret,  Carraby  raised  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and 
spoke  over  the  back  of  it  mysteriously. 

"Playwright!"  he  hissed,  smiling.  "Stephen  Clay- 
poole!  When  he  isn't  roisterin'  about  the  city,  he  lives 
in  that  house  of  Nelson's,  some  three  or  four  miles  west  of 
Galena  Gulch.  He'll  make  something  of  his  writing, 
that  fellow  will,  or  I'll  eat  my  shirt,  collar  and  all.  He's 
up  in  the  air  about  meeting  you,  Patricia." 

"There  I  go — smash!"  exclaimed  Miss  Rowland.  "I 
might  have  known  it  wasn't  poor  little  foggy  old  Ruth  he 
came  to  see.  Well,  go  to  it,  Pat,  old  dear.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  dough  up  your  cake." 

"You  needn't  care,  Ruthie,"  consoled  Carraby.  "I'm 
for  you  every  time,  and  it's  a  Christmas  supper  for  the 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     119 

four  of  us  in  my  rooms  at  the  Thornton,  if  Patricia's 
willing.  How  about  it,  Pat?  You  don't  go  out  enough 
to  put  a  sparkle  in  your  orbs." 

"I'd  like  it,  Alf,"  she  answered,  although  her  tone  of 
disinterest  belied  her  words.  She  was  traveling  the  lines 
of  least  resistance.  It  was  easier  to  accept  the  invitation 
than  to  explain  why  she  wanted  to  refuse  it. 

"Then  drop  into  my  rooms  after  the  show,"  directed 
Carraby,  rising,  "and  we'll  have  a  spread  that'll  swat  the 
eye  out  of  a  gormandizer,"  and,  like  a  whirlwind,  he  was 
gone. 

In  Miss  Rushmore's  suite  at  the  Hotel  Thornton,  some 
hours  later,  Ruth  Rowland  stood,  poised  like  a  swallow 
ready  for  flight,  a  rabbit's  paw,  well  rouged,  in  one  hand. 
She  was  critically  examining  Patricia  with  the  eye  of  a 
make-up  artist. 

"Here,  girlie,"  she  said,  "let  me  schmink  you  up  a  bit. 
You're  as  pale  as  a  sheet.  You  can't  go  down  before 
your  Lord  Red-head,  looking  like  a  walking  ghost. 
I'd  like  to  be  in  your  shoes  to-night,  Pat!  Say, 
cutie,  have  you  ever  been  in  love — I  mean  the  real  thing, 
thrills  and  kisses — and — " 

"No,"  interrupted  Patricia  swiftly,  "no,  Ruthie,  of 
course  not!" 

"Then  believe  me,  dovie,  you're  up  against  it  now!" 

Absorbed  in  the  delicate  task  of  dusting  the  rabbit's 
paw  across  Miss  Rushmore's  cheeks,  she  paused,  and  then, 
stepping  back  to  inspect  her  work,  she  chattered  on: 

"  Now,  you're  beautiful,  honey!  Wait  till  I  redden 
your  ears  a  trifle.  There's  nothing  that'll  catch  'em  so 
quick  as  a  blushing  ear.  Why,  I  can  see  straight  through 
yours,  you  poor  pigeon;  it's  so  white!  There!  Now, 
you're  a  picture,  a  perfect  picture!  I'll  dab  myself  a 
little,  and  then  we'll  rush  up.  Alf  serves  feasts  fit  for 
the  gods." 


120    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

With  the  aid  of  the  mirror  she  deftly  made  crimson 
portions  of  her  own  countenance.  With  a  final  touch 
to  her  cheek  bones,  she  whirled  around. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Pat?"  she  demanded. 
"You've  had  tears  in  your  eyes  all  day  in  spite  of  a  fine 
Christmas.  No  one  in  the  Carraby  theater  ever  received 
half  the  flowers  you  did  to-day — or  presents,  either. 
What's  the  matter,  darling?" 

"I — I  guess  I'm  a  little  lonely,"  conceded  Patricia 
wistfully.  "You  see,  I've  always  been  home  with  my 
mother." 

"  Of  course,  you  have,"  sympathized  Ruth,  "  and  it's 
horrid  to  be  obliged  to  work  holidays.  But  buck  up, 
dear  old  thing.  Cherries '11  soon  be  ripe,  and  then  you 
can  take  a  run  east  and  see  your  folks.  By  the  way,  look 
and  see  if  my  petticoat  shows,  will  you?" 

Gravely  Patricia  inspected  the  hem  of  Miss  Rowland's 
robe. 

"No,"  she  stated,  striving  to  throw  off  her  gloom,  "but 
your  skirt's  so  tight,  Ruthie,  I  don't  see  how  you're  able 
to  wear  a  petticoat  underneath  it  to  hang  down." 

Two  minutes  later  they  halted  before  Manager 
Carraby 's  apartment  on  the  top  floor  of  the  hotel.  Miss 
Rowland's  smart  rap  was  responded  to  by  the  manager 
himself,  who  threw  open  the  door  and  met  them  with  ex- 
tended hands  and  voluble  greetings. 

"Fine,  little  ones,"  he  said,  laughing.  "You're  just  on 
the  tick  of  time.  Can't  say  that  of  every  woman." 
Roguishly  he  winked  one  eye  over  his  shoulder.  "The 
scribbler's  in  yonder,  toasting  his  shins  over  the  steam. 
Come  along." 

Then,  because  he  had  a  tender  spot  in  his  heart  for 
Ruth  Rowland,  he  retained  her  hand  as  he  walked  be- 
side her  into  the  room  beyond,  Miss  Rushmore  following. 

"Mr.  Claypoole,  Miss  Rowland!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     121 

Patricia  heard  Carraby's  introduction  as  her  eyes  fell 
on  a  flower-bedecked  table.  Christmas  wreaths  hung 
pendent  from  the  chandelier  and,  centering  each  window, 
like  round  eyes,  told  their  pretty  tale  of  age-old  lore. 
Strung,  star-shaped,  on  crimson  ribbons,  holly  glowed 
through  the  room,  a  hue  of  flame.  The  holly  and  mistle- 
toe revived  memories, — bitter,  indeed.  She  drank  the 
dregs  of  that  cup  of  suffering  when  she  saw  the  brilliant 
Christmas  tree  in  the  corner.  Surely  it  was  no  wonder 
that  she  paid  but  slight  attention  to  the  low,  even  tones 
of  a  strange  voice  in  response  to  Ruth's  gurgles. 

Then  she  became  aware  that  her  own  name,  "Miss 
Rushmore,"  had  followed  that  of  "Claypoole."  She  ex- 
tended her  hand  mechanically,  looked  up  and  up  and  up, 
and  then — mistletoe,  holly  and  Christmas  tree  eddied 
into  a  circle  of  fire  that  swung  her  giddily  into  Black- 
berry Lane.  She  was  staring  into  a  smiling  face,  a  face 
that  seemed  to  leap  out  from  the  days  of  her  youth,  and 
brown  eyes,  touched  with  the  gold  of  her  dreams,  were 
glowing  upon  her.  Her  giant  of  Blackberry  Lane! 
Could  this  big  man  be  he?  The  question  raced  through 
her  mind  in  the  temporary  lull  of  sociabilities. 

For  one  moment  she  set  white  teeth  into  her  underlip  to 
keep  from  crying  out.  Christmas  memories,  the  red  of 
the  holly,  the  strung  ribbons  had  quite  turned  her  brain. 

"I've  met  Miss  Rushmore  before,  Alf,"  spoken  in  a 
ringing  voice,  awoke  her  to  the  realization  that  she  had 
not  gone  mad  after  all. 

In  a  trance  she  heard  Ruth  Rowland  laugh  aloud  and 
call  her,  "a  tyke  for  putting  one  over  on  them." 

Alf  Carraby  roared  delightedly  into  her  ear: 

"Are  you  going  to  let  Steve  hold  your  mitt  all  night, 
Pat?  Here,  drop  it,  Claypoole,  old  man,  and  let's  devour 
the  turkey.  Seeing  you're  both  so  well  acquainted,  you 
can  spoon  afterwards  as  much  as  you  like." 


122     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Later,  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room,  Patricia  could 
not  recall  what  food  had  been  set  before  her,  or  whether 
she  had  eaten  a  single  bite.  But  how  vividly  she  remem- 
bered every  word  Stephen  Claypoole  had  uttered! 

"He  said  he'd  always  believed  he  would  see  me  again," 
she  whispered  into  the  silence  as  the  clock  struck  four. 
"Somehow — somehow,  I've  known  it,  too.  It  was  that 
wicked  fiend  who  made  me  forget  my — my  Stephen." 

Thus  another  black  mark  was  added  to  the  long  score 
against  Patrick  O'Kelleron. 

But  now,  in  this  precious  morning  hour,  there  was  no 
space  in  her  teeming  imagination  for  any  personality  but 
that  of  her  man,  her  big,  big  man!  Her  man  of  the 
golden  eyes,  the  same  smiling  eyes  that  had  traveled  with 
her  in  fancy  from  Balmville  into  a  world  of  triumph  and 
tragedy! 

She  sighed  and  paused  in  her  restless  pacing  of  the 
room.  She  had  found  him  at  last,  her  man!  Out  of  the 
depths  of  a  mountain  winter  he  had  come  to  her,  as  once 
in  a  snow  storm  he  had  stood  bareheaded  in  Blackberry 
Lane.  Glorious  the  mountains  that  had  hitherto  cowed 
her  into  insignificance !  Winter  that  had  stung  her  with 
a  wish  for  spring  again  rose  joy-crowned  over  all  other 
seasons! 

Half -past  four  chimed  in  a  single  musical  stroke  of  the 
clock's  bell,  and  she  walked  directly  to  it. 

"He's  coming — to-morrow — no,  to-day,"  she  told  the 
timepiece.  "How  many  hours  will  you  have  to  travel 
before  then?"  On  her  fingers  she  counted,  "From  half- 
past  four  to  half-past  five,  one  hour;  from  half-past  five 
to  half-past  six,  two  hours"  —  and  so  on  and  on,  up  to 
high  noon,  did  she  murmur  the  minutes  away.  "  Almost 
nine  hours  before  I  see  him  again." 

Then  she  sighed  and  went  to  bed. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     123 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"Ix's  perfectly  darling  of  you  to  help  me,  Ruthie," 
fluttered  Patricia  in  the  fullness  of  her  high  spirits. 
"  I'm  so  nervous  I  never  could  have  combed  my  hair  if 
you  hadn't!  Is  it  all  right?  Tell  me  honestly  just  how  I 
look." 

Ruth  Rowland  was  sitting  on  Patricia's  bed,  inspecting 
the  small  leading  lady  of  the  Carraby  Stock,  who  was 
stationed  in  front  of  the  mirror. 

"If  you  use  a  speck  of  rouge  this  morning,  Pat,"  Ruth 
replied  promptly,  "you'll  look  like  a  live  broiled  lobster. 
My  dear,  you've  certainly  perked  up  some  since  yesterday. 
Almost  all  the  circles  are  gone  from  under  your  eyes. 
And,  oh,  weren't  you  great  at  rehearsal  this  morning! 
Alf  said  he'd  never  seen  the  part  handled  like  that. — 
You  pretty  thing,  I  wish  I  had  your  picture  this  minute! 
— You  feel  a  heap  better,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Patricia,  "and  my  head  doesn't 
ache  a  bit.  But,  Ruth  dear,  I  wish  you  would  go  riding 
with  us.  I'm  so  nervous  and  jumpy  I  hate  to  go  out 
alone  with  him.  Do  say,  'Yes!'  this  once,  dear." 

"Not  me,"  giggled  Ruth.  "I've  learned  the  folly  of 
being  de  trop.  Red-head  would  look  a  hole  through  me 
if  I  minced  in,  dressed  up  to  go  along  with  you.  I  know 
his  selfish  type.  No,  now,  don't  beg!  For  I  say  I  won't! 
You  can  be  as  jumpy  as  you  like  as  long  as  you  don't 
jump  over  the  moon  and  not  be  here  when  he  arrives. 
Was  there  a  word  said  last  night  about  taking  me  with 
you  two?  Not  a  syllable!  Oh,  I  know  when  I'm  sot 
on!  Not  that  I  care  a  cent,  though. 

"You  just  listen  to  what  your  old  maid  friend  is  telling 


124    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

you,  Miss  Pretty  Gray  Eyes!  Stephen  Claypoole'll  pop 
the  question  before  many  days  are  over.  Take  my  word 
for  that!  So  you  see  you'll  have  to  be  alone  with  him  to 
lead  up  to  it.  Now,  my  advice  is,  girlie,  you  catch  him 
while  he's  flying  by.  To  my  notion  you  won't  have 
another  chance  like  this." 

Ever  since  she  had  awakened,  Patricia  had  been  hum- 
ming snatches  of  the  hymns  she  had  learned  at  Yum-yum's 
knee.  Her  happy  excitement  had,  somehow,  reanimated 
her  faith  in  universal  good. 

"Mercy,  Ruth,  you're  absurd,"  she  remonstrated.  "Just 
because  a  man  takes  a  girl  out  driving  is  no  sign  he  wants 
to  marry  her.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

But  her  heart  thrilled  as  she  spoke. 

"Granted,  my  love,  if  the  signs  aren't  there,"  laughed 
Ruth.  "But  Red-Head  had  as  many  of  'em  last  night  as 
a  fish  has  scales.  He  ogled  you  this  way."  She  thrust 
forward  her  head  and  widened  her  lids  until  her  bright 
eyes  almost  popped  out  of  their  sockets.  Then  suddenly 
she  looked  down  and  twisted  her  fingers.  "That's  how 
you  did!  He  almost  ate  you  up  with  his  glances,  and 
you  simply  couldn't  stand  it — not  all  the  time.  It's  love, 
my  dear!  Pure  unadulterated  love — the  real  thing!" 

"What  a  romancer  you  are,  Ruth!  Absolutely  in- 
corrigible!" sighed  Patricia,  but  the  sigh  issued  from 
smiling  lips.  "Do  run  in  and  take  another  peep  at  the 
sitting  room,  and  see  if  it's  quite  straight." 

Scrambling  off  the  bed,  Miss  Rowland  drew  her  slender 
figure  to  its  fullest  height. 

"Laws  me,"  she  complained  good-naturedly,  "you're  a 
caution,  you  are,  Pat.  This'll  be  ten  times  I've  looked 
over  that  blessed  room  in  the  last  hour.  What  do  you 
expect — the  chairs  to  turn  themselves  upside  down?" 

"Oh,  no,  of  course  not,  and  I  know  it's  all  right,  dear. 
I  know  it  is.  Forgive  me,  do!  You've  fixed  everything 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     125 

exquisitely.     Now,  I'll  put  on  my  hat  and  the  flowers. 
Oh,  aren't  they  gorgeous?" 

"You've  said  something  now,"  chortled  Ruth.  "There's 
nothing  that  tickles  a  fellow  so  much  as  seeing  his  love 
offerings  on  the  lady  of  his  choice. — Put  one  in  your 
hair,  too,  but  be  sure  it  shows.  Oh,  you  are  pretty,  Pat 
dear!  Lordy,  there's  the  telephone!  Now,  hear  me! 
I'll  let  him  in,  and  then  I — vamoose!  See?" 

With  a  high-flung  gesture  of  farewell,  she  disappeared 
into  the  sitting  room,  and  Patricia  wished  she  would 
hurry  and  take  off  the  receiver.  It  did  seem  sometimes 
as  though  Ruth  were  a  little  slow. 

"Send  him  up,"  Miss  Rowland's  clear  young  voice 
sounded  back  to  her. 

Another  spell  of  waiting!  A  distant  rap — then  voices, 
and  Ruth  came  tripping  in,  her  arms  loaded  with  roses. 

"Will  you  see  what  he  toted  up  here?"  she  hissed 
softly,  "and  him!  Well,  he's  what  I  call  a  beauty  of  a 
man.  He's  better  looking  this  morning  than  he  was  last 
night,  and  that's  going  some!  Now,  I'll  take  one  last 
look  at  you — There,  turn  around!  Ah,  you're  glorious! 
I'll  stick  these  posies  in  the  bathtub — and  by-by,  honey— 
and  good  luck!" 

In  Patricia's  sitting  room,  Stephen  Claypoole  was 
standing  at  the  window,  looking  down  into  the  street. 
Suspense  had  kept  him  awake  and  restless  since  he  and 
Alf  Carraby  had  separated  in  the  lobby  of  the  hotel  at 
three  that  morning.  He  had  found  it  impossible  to  rest 
until  Butte  had  begun  its  short  day's  labor.  Never  in 
all  the  twenty-eight  years  of  his  life  could  he  remember 
being  overwhelmed  with  such  anxiety.  Elated  by  the 
memory  of  Patricia's  cordial  acceptance  of  his  invitation 
to  ride  with  him,  he  was  fearful  that  she  was  entertaining 
him  merely  as  a  casual  acquaintance.  What  would  he 
do  if  he  discovered  that  she  was  married  or  engaged  to 


126    THE    MARRIAGE   OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

some  other  man?  He  went  cold  at  the  thought.  Perish 
the  idea  if  he  were  ever  to  know  contentment  again. 

Sibilant  whispers  trickled  out  of  the  adjoining  room, 
a  giggle  or  two,  and  then  he  whirled  around.  There 
she  was  in  the  doorway,  the  girl  of  his  meditations,  the 
girl  who  had  glided  past  him  over  the  snow  twelve  months 
before  and  had  left  her  image  in  his  heart.  Now,  in  her 
simple,  black  gown,  cut  away  at  the  neck,  with  a  small 
hat  rimming  her  dark  curls,  she  looked  on  the  point  of 
darting  off  again. 

The  blood  thumped  like  a  riveting  gun  in  his  ears.  He 
endeavored  to  sort  out  of  his  confused  mind  words  that 
would  please  her.  But  there  were  a  thousand  unspoken 
questions  in  her  gray  eyes,  and  he  was  searching  for  an 
answer  for  all  of  them  at  once. 

Then  a  slow,  lovely  smile  of  welcome  widened  her 
mouth,  and  he  drew  a  long  breath. 

Where  were  the  greetings  he  had  prepared  with  so  much 
care?  He  had  forgotten  them  all.  He  was  paralyzed 
with  stage  fright.  He  wished  she  would  give  him  his  cue. 

But  in  a  dead  silence  they  took  two  steps  toward  each 
other.  Neither  remembered  that  the  conventional,  "How 
do  you  do!  I'm  pleased  to  see  you,"  had  not  been 
spoken.  Finally,  after  they  had  almost  stared  each 
other  out  of  countenance,  he  blurted  out: 

"I've  come  to  ask  you  to  marry  me  immediately, 
Patricia!" 

His  voice,  vibrant  with  passion,  thrilled  her  with  an 
unnamed  sweetness.  She  had  not  expected  this  master 
of  men  to  override  every  point  of  etiquette,  to  shatter  all 
her  girlish  ideas  of  courtship.  She  knew  she  ought  to 
say,  "No,  no,  Mr.  Claypoole,  we  are  going  for  a  ride. 
Do  sit  down  a  moment  before  we  start! "  But  how  could 
she,  when  she  was  hypnotized  by  the  alluring  shine  in 
his  brown  eyes? 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     127 

"You're  going  to  marry  me,"  he  announced,  as  though 
he  thought  she  had  not  heard  him.  "You  belong  to  me! 
You  know  it  very  well!  I — I  belong  to  you!  You — 
you  knew  last  night  that  I'd  ask  you  to  marry  me  to-day. 
Patricia,  little  one,  don't  look  so  frightened!  I — I  love 
you!" 

This  declaration  aroused  her.  They  were  strangers. 
He  had  not  seen  her  enough  to  know  her.  She  had  seen 
him  but  twice.  To  cut  off  his  impetuous  speech,  she 
flung  out  a  hand,  but  he  captured  it  and  held  it  firmly, 
drawing  her  closer  to  him. 

"Don't!  Oh,  don't!"  she  objected  feverishly,  trying 
to  withdraw  her  fingers.  "It's  so  quick — it's  too  sudden ! 
Please,  please!" 

"It's  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  contradicted  with  fiery 
ardor.  "It's  neither  quick — nor  sudden.  You  know  that 
as  well  as  I  do.  I've  loved — I've  loved  you  one  whole  year. 
Is  that  sudden?  I've  longed  for  you,  looked  for  you— 
hoping  always —  '  he  hesitated — "that  I'd  find  you! 
Knowing  that  sometime  I  would!  I  went  back  to  the 
place  where  I  first  saw  you  three  times.  I  wandered 
about  that  country  again  and  again.  I've  thought  of  you 
ever  since.  Is  that  too  quick,  I'd  like  to  know.  Tell 
me,  is  it?" 

By  this  time  he  had  possessed  himself  of  both  of  her 
hands. 

As  though  she  were  following  in  imagination  his  vain 
search  at  Balmville,  she  was  considering  him  with  a  far- 
away expression  on  her  face. 

Embarrassed,  she  appreciated  that  she  should  utter 
words  of  rebuke,  but  she  was  too  infinitely  glad  to  hear 
his  voice,  and  she  believed  him.  He  did  love  her!  That 
blessed  thought  set  her  to  trembling  again. 

"Don't  be  so  disturbed,  dear  one,"  he  begged,  and  then 
even  more  pleadingly: 


128    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Oh,  you  do  care  for  me  a  little,  don't  you?  I  mean — 
I  mean — you'll  try,  won't  you?  And — and  I'll  make 
you  so  happy!  No,  don't  take  your  hands  away. 
Precious  little  hands — my  little  hands!  Dear — oh — my 
dear!" 

Reverently  he  bent  from  his  great  height  and  kissed 
her  fingers. 

"  I  adore  you,  darlingest  darling,"  Patricia  heard  as 
she  ceased  struggling  to  be  free.  "Tell  me  you  love  me. 
You  won't  be  sorry!  I  can't  wait  a  minute  longer!" 

Love!  Was  this  unutterable  yearning  that  surged 
through  her  at  the  touch  of  his  hot  lips — love?  The  pain 
that  had  filled  her  heart  for  many  weeks  had  gone  to  give 
place  to  a  shy,  palpitating  response  to  his  words. 

"Sit  down,"  she  quivered,  because  she  could  not  think 
of  anything  else  to  say.  "Sit  down,  please,  a  little  while 
before  we  leave." 

Although  she  attempted  to  speak  with  calmness,  her 
voice  shook  perceptibly.  She  urged  him  forward,  but  she 
might  as  well  have  tugged  at  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar.  He 
maintained  his  resolute  position,  holding  her  in  her  place, 
repeating  fiercely,  insistently,  that  he  loved  her.  Did  she 
love  him  a  wee  bit?  If  she  did  not  now,  did  she  think  she 
could  after  a  while? 

"I  can't  take  a  step  until  I  know,"  he  went  on  swiftly, 
passionately.  "I've  lost  interest  in  everything  but  you, 
Patricia.  When  I  realized  a  few  days  ago  that  I'd  found 
you,  I  could  hardly  contain  myself.  At  first  Carraby  re- 
fused to  introduce  me  to  you.  I  think  he  knew  I  loved 
you.  I  want — I  want  you,  dear.  Patricia,  I  want  you  to 
marry  me. 

"I've  forgotten  all  the  nice  things  I  meant  to  say.  I 
had  a  ream  of  stuff  all  thought  out.  I  didn't  mean  to  put 
the  cart  before  the  horse,  but  it's  done,  and  I  won't  take 
back  a  word.  I  couldn't  sleep,  not  a  wink,  after  I  went 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     129 

home.  I  laid  awake,  just  mulling  over  to  myself  how 
much  I  loved  you,  dear,  how  very  much  I  needed  you.  I 
can't  think  of  anything  or  any  one  else. 

"No,  I  shan't  let  you  go,  not  yet,  not  until  you  answer 
me.  I  only  want  to  know  if  you  care  for  me  at  all.  If 
you  don't  now,  will  you  try?  Don't  keep  me  on  the  rack, 
child!  A  year  ought  to  satisfy  you!  Surely  it  does!" 

"It's  been  a  long,  sad  year,"  she  choked. 

A  look  of  sympathy  sprang  into  his  eyes. 

"  I'm  sorry,  very  sorry,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Forgive 
me !  I  forgot  that  I  kept  you  up  nearly  all  night.  We'll 
both  sit  down.  There,  now  let  me  go  on.  You'll  forget 
all  the  sad  days,  dear,  because — because — Oh,  tell  me, 
have  you  thought  of  me  some — sometimes?" 

"Yes!"     Very  softly  she  owned  to  it. 

"And  you  wanted  to  see  me  again,  Patricia?" 

Gently  he  pronounced  her  name  as  though  caressing  it. 

Had  she  wanted  to  see  him  again?  How  many, 
many  times, — more  times  than  there  were  hours  in  the 
sped  year. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  assented  almost  inaudibly. 

In  sheer  relief  he  sighed. 

"And  you'll  pardon  me  for  forgetting  myself  this  morn- 
ing," he  entreated,  "for  being  so  abrupt?  Truly  I  in- 
tended to  wait  at  least  one  whole  day  before  asking  you 
to  marry  me.  Are  you  sure,  dear,  you  can  forgive  me?" 

"I've  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  told  him  shyly. 

"  What  a  sweet  child  you  are,"  he  smiled.  "  But 
seeing  you  alone  put  every  other  idea  out  of  my  head. 
Now  then,  I'll — tell — you  what  I  thought  about  after  I 
left  you  this  morning."  He  coughed  bashfully.  "You 
said — you  liked  what  you  read  of  my  play.  Now, 
didn't  you?  I  wanted  your  opinion  of  it."  He  paused, 
a  tremor  passing  over  him.  "You  didn't  say  it  was  good 
just  to  compliment  me — " 


130     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"It's  wonderful,"  she  broke  in. 

"You  couldn't  speak  an  untruth  to  any  one!  That  I 
know.  And  how  I  wanted  you  to  like  my  work! 
But,  of  course,  nothing  will  be  of  any  avail — if  you 
can't — love  me.  Don't  you  need  me  just  a  little,  sweet?" 

"Yes!"  his  anxious  gaze  read  in  her  silent  lip  language. 

"God  has  been  good  to  me,  dear,"  he  said  in  lingering 
praise.  "So  good,  so  good!  Far  better  than  I  deserve. 
Oh,  girl,  my  girl,  can't  you  see  we — we  need  each  other? 
Heaven  knows  I  want  you,  and — and — Tell  me  so  again, 
sweet!  Tell  me  that  you  want  me — too!" 

He  was  quivering  with  humble  supplication. 

"Yes,"  she  vowed  tremulously,  "yes!  I  do,  I  do 
need  you.  I  know  I  do.  It  seems  as  though  I  must  be 
dreaming!" 

Then  the  memory  of  her  dependent  mother,  of  Michael, 
obliterated  the  transplendent  glory  that  had  suddenly  radi- 
ated over  her  unhappy  life.  She  did  not  belong  to  her- 
self. She  could  not  give  herself  away,  no  matter  how 
much  she  desired  to. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  began  in  agitation.  "I  do  love  you, 
Stephen!  I  do!  I  know  now  I  always  have.  But  I 
must  be  honest  with  you — with  myself.  I  can't  think  of 
what  I  want.  I  mustn't  see  you  at  all  after  to-day.  It's 
absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  work.  You've  forgotten 
what  I  told  you  about  my  little  mother  last  night.  I  know 
you  have.  Oh,  please  don't  talk  about  you  and  me  any 
more.  It  isn't  possible  for  me  to  marry  while  my  people 
need  me  so.  I  must  work." 

She  was  horribly  tempted  to  deny  her  own  words,  to 
retract  them  instantly.  She  could  imagine  no  heaven  so 
high,  so  lofty,  as  that  of  being  Stephen  Claypoole's  wife. 
To  resist  the  scorching  desire,  she  pulled  at  her  fingers 
to  release  them,  but  they  were  lost,  completely  lost, 
within  his  great  hands. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     131 

"So  you  shall  work,  wee  love,  if  you  want  to,"  he  an- 
swered, "so  you  shall,  sweetheart!  Now,  don't  speak  a 
word  till  I've  finished  what  I'm  going  to  say.  I  certainly 
haven't  forgotten  about  your  mother,  and  I  love  your 
loyal  soul  more  because  of  what  you're  doing  for  her.  I 
want  her  to  be  one  of  my  mothers,  too.  I'll  make  her 
love  me,  I  surely  will.  I'll  be  so  good  to  you  all,  she'll 
have  to  like  me  in  spite  of  everything.  I  can't  even  con- 
sider going  back  east  and  leaving  you  here.  Now,  that 
I've  found  you,  I  can't  go — not  for  a  day — unless  I  know 
you  are  mine,  all  mine.  I  couldn't  work!  I'd  come 
straight  back!  Think  of  our  being  together,  always,  in 
a  home  of  our  very  own,  Patricia.  You  darling,  if  you 
look  at  me  like  that,  I  won't  have  strength  enough  to  tell 
you  the  rest." 

Hot  tears  rose  to  her  lids,  and  she  partly  stifled  a 
catching  breath.  She  had  just  discovered  what  love 
meant.  But  now  she  had  it  for  her  very  own,  she  was 
forced  by  circumstances  to  give  it  up.  Never  could  she 
put  herself  before  Yum-yum  and  the  King. 

"  I  know  the  thought  that  made  you  sigh  like  that," 
he  said.  "See,  if  I  don't!  You  think  I'm  going  to  ask 
you  to  leave  Carraby.  Well,  so  I  am,  but  not  as  you 
think,  dear." 

As  the  small  hands  within  his  grew  rigidly  tense,  he 
paused.  Then  the  agony  in  her  eyes  caused  him  to 
ejaculate  swiftly: 

"Why,  my  dear  little  girl,  when  you  hear  what  my  plans 
are,  you'll  be  as  excited  as  I  am.  Now,  you  run  get  your 
coat,  and  I'll  finish  my  yarn  on  our  ride." 

As  she  disappeared,  he  called: 

"Put  on  enough  to  keep  you  warm.    It's  a  bitter  day ! " 


i32     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

CHAPTER  XX 

"BuxxE,  MONTANA,  Thursday. 
"Dearest  Barney : 

"THIS  letter  will  surely  make  you  jump  out  of  your 
skin.  I'm  twitching  all  over,  writing  it.  You'll  think  the 
impossible  has  happened  when  you  read  it.  Notice 
with  your  own  eyes,  boy  dear,  the  inclosed  bank  draft 
for  four  thousand  dollars.  What  do  you  think?  First 
of  all,  dear,  I've  met  the  only  man  worth  loving, 
and  what's  more,  I'm  going  to  marry  him!  His  name  is 
Stephen  Claypoole,  and,  although  he's  a  lawyer  and  has 
practiced  a  lot,  he's  writing  a  play.  I've  never  read 
anything  like  it.  He  has  asked  me  to  star  in  it.  Isn't 
that  great?  He  said  you  could  have  any  part  you 
liked  when  I  told  him  how  fine  you  were.  He  gave  me 
in  advance  on  my  future  salary  five  thousand  dollars, 
four  of  which  I  am  sending  you. 

"He  loves  me,  and  I  simply  worship  him,  so  what  could 
be  better  than  that  we  should  work  together?  I've 
arranged  with  my  manager  here  not  to  hold  me  to  my 
entire  contract.  My  understudy,  Ruth  Rowland,  will 
play  the  leads  from  now  on. 

"Stephen  and  I  are  going  over  to  Idaho  Falls  to  be 
married,  to  get  away  from  my  good  stage  friends.  We're 
not  telling  any  one  yet  about  it  but  you.  I'm  happy  for 
the  first  time  since  our  trouble,  dear.  Be  glad  about  the 
money  and  use  it.  It's  ours!  and  Mike's,  too!  It'll 
start  a  new  trial  for  him,  and  I  want  you  to  go  right  to 
work  on  it.  Give  in  your  notice,  and  go  to  New  York 
as  soon  as  you  can.  Stephen  says  I'm  going  to  be  so 
productive  of  money  that  I  can  have  more  any  time  I 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     133 

want  it.  I  was  a  little  worried  at  first  for  fear  he  couldn't 
afford  this,  but  he  only  laughed  at  me  when  I  spoke  of  it. 

"Don't  tell  any  one,  not  even  Martin  Brewer  when  you 
see  him,  that  I  sent  the  money  or  about  my  getting 
married.  He'll  be  surprised  that  I've  left  the  stock,  but 
I'll  explain  it  to  him  when  I  come  east.  I  want  to  tell 
Yum-yum  and  Aunt  Addie  myself  and  have  the  joy  of 
seeing  Michael  when  he's  told  he'll  soon  be  free.  If 
anyone  asks  you  where  the  money  came  from,  just  say 
an  admirer  of  Mike's  is  putting  up  to  prove  his  innocence. 
Heaven  knows  that's  true.  There  isn't  a  person  in  the 
world  who  admires  that  sweet  boy  as  I  do. 

"I've  been  half  sick  ever  since  I've  been  here.  My  head 
has  ached  constantly.  But  I'm  feeling  a  little  better 
now,  and  I  owe  it  all  to  Stephen.  He  says  I  must  take 
a  good  rest  after  we're  married,  that  I've  worked  too 
hard.  Oh,  Barney,  if  I'd  looked  the  world  over,  I 
couldn't  have  found  a  man  half  as  tender,  as  clever,  or 
one  who  would  love  me  as  he  does.  When  I  see  you,  I'll 
tell  you  something  perfectly  wonderful.  There,  I'm  at 
my  old  tricks  again,  arousing  your  curiosity  and  then 
not  satisfying  it.  Well,  I  saw  Stephen  first  near  home. 
It's  a  long,  beautiful  story,  but  it  will  have  to  wait!  He's 
stamping  up  and  down,  quite  impatient  for  me  to  finish 
this.  He  just  asked  me  if  I  were  writing  you  a  book. 

"Darling  boy,  will  you  do  something  for  me?  Find  out 
what  Fancy  Cavendish  wants  most;  then  give  it  to  her. 

"Be  sure  to  write  me  all  about  the  people  I  know. 

"I've  glanced  over  what  I've  written,  and  it  reads  like 
a  hodge-podge. 

"Address  your  letters  to  Patricia  Rushmore,  just  the 
same  as  you  have  been  doing.  We  won't  be  in  Idaho 
long.  In  all  probability  we'll  come  directly  east.  I'll 
let  you  know.  Stephen  is  anxious  about  his  mother,  and 
I'm  wild  to  see  Yum-yum. 


i34    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Be  sure  and  give  her  everything  she  needs,  and  Aunt 
Addie,  too.     Give  them  both  a  million  kisses  for  me. 
"I  send  you  all  my  love,  dearest. 

"Your  devoted  sister, 

"PATRICIA. 

"P.  S.  I  haven't  mentioned  Tepperday'  to  any  one 
and  won't.  Even  Stephen  knows  me  only  as  Patricia 
Rushmore.  Well,  that's  my  name  now.  I  shall  never 
use  Tepperday'  again.  Stephen  seems  to  know  the  right 
thing  to  do  at  the  right  time. 

"Last  night  I  told  him  I  had  something  in  my  past 
which  he  must  know.  He  laughed  and  said  he  had  a  past, 
too.  I  tried  to  tell  him  about  the  Pater  and  Michael,  but 
I  cried  so  he  wouldn't  hear  me.  He  said  that  what  had 
happened  before  I  knew  him  didn't  amount  to  a  flip.  It 
relieved  me  quite  a  little.  He's  so  broad-minded  and 
splendid!  Of  course,  it'll  come  out  soon,  and  he'll  be 
heart  and  soul  for  us.  He'll  undo  all  Patrick  O'Kelleron's 
wicked  work  against  Michael,  and  our  boy  will  be  free. 
I  say  this  because  I  know  what  kind  of  a  man  my 
Stephen  is. 

"My  letters  from  Benny  Brewer  are  quite  dismal.  Go 
see  him,  Barney,  when  you  can.  My  regards  to  Martin, 
too.  I've  had  some  wonderful  letters  from  him,  and 
he's  wired  me  flowers  two  or  three  times  a  week.  I'm 
looking  forward  to  your  meeting  my  Stephen. 

XXXXXXXX      Kisses/. 

"PADDY. 

"P.  P.  S.  If  you  think  it  wise,  dear,  go  back  to  Caven- 
dish's. That  is,  if  you  can  stand  it.  You  might  dis- 
cover something  there. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     135 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IF  the  ugly,  straight  street  in  Idaho  Falls  had  been  a 
river  of  water,  Patricia  could  have  danced  over  it  without 
wetting  her  feet,  so  exalted  was  she.  She  was  not  walk- 
ing on  the  earth  at  all.  Clouds  of  felicity  enveloped 
her.  Rejoicing  voices  hosannaed  in  her  uplifted  soul. 
She  was  married!  She  was  married  to  Stephen  Clay- 
poole,  royal  Stephen,  her  kingly  lover. 

This  Monday,  this  blessed  Monday,  was  a  holy  span  of 
hours  in  the  center  of  the  universe,  consecrated,  torch-like, 
above  all  yesterdays.  To-day  would  be  followed  by  un- 
numbered to-morrows,  each  in  its  turn  flavored  with  the 
rapture  of  now! 

She  looked  down  at  the  hand  nearest  her  heart.  In 
the  dimly  lighted  church  but  a  few  minutes  before  Stephen 
had  slipped  on  the  ring — precious,  plighting  circle  of  gold, 
emblem  of  never-ending  life  for  them,  and  she  had  kissed 
it  in  adoration  for  the  giver. 

Joyfully  she  compared  the  parson's  solemn  avowal, 
"Then  do  I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife  until  death  do 
you  part!"  to  the  beginning  of  all  good.  How  Stephen's 
red-brown  eyes  had  burned  with  passionate  tears  and 
longing  when  in  that  sacred  moment  he  had  whispered 
into  her  listening  ear: 

"There'll  be  no  death,  no  parting  for  you  and  me!" 

Why,  even  if  she  were  dead,  she  would  still  love 
Stephen,  and  he  would  love  her! 

Always  and  forever,  on  and  on  through  the  eternal 
ages,  through  God's  infinite  space,  they  would  travel  to- 
gether as  they  walked  side  by  side  this  winter  evening  in 
Idaho  Falls. 


136    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Stephen  had  restored  to  her  her  faith  in  the  Prince  of 
Peace!  His  love  had  lifted  her  completely  out  of  the 
Slough  of  Despond  into  which  she  had  fallen  that  day  in 
Roosevelt  Hospital.  Yum-yum's  King  of  Glory  had  re- 
deemed her  through  Stephen. 

In  worshipful  silence  she  looked  up  at  him.  Even 
remembering  all  his  assurances,  all  her  own  pious  re- 
flections, it  was  difficult  to  realize  that  such  a  big,  big 
man  belonged  to  such  a  little,  little  girl. 

From  his  great  height,  he  beamed  down  upon  her. 

"This  is  the  first  day  I've  lived,  Patricia,"  he  said  in 
deep  tones. 

"My  first  day,  too,  Stephen,"  she  concurred  with  throb- 
bing pulses. 

Then  they  fell  again  into  quietude,  each  young  heart 
busily  summing  up  its  own  gladness. 

Arrived  at  the  hotel,  they  went  immediately  to  the 
suite  which  Claypoole  had  reserved,  in  the  living  room  of 
which  was  a  table  spread  for  two.  There  were  flowers, 
many  of  them,  and  they  lent  to  the  dingy  room  a  festive 
hue. 

"There,  little  maid,"  boasted  Stephen,  "doesn't  this 
look  homelike?  The  dinner  will  be  up  in  a  jiffy.  You 
see,  I'm  going  to  feed  my  wee  bird  this  minute.  Do  you 
realize,  little  wife,  that  a  cup  of  tea  is  all  you've  had  since 
morning?"  He  rounded  her  blushing  face  with  both 
hands  and  kissed  her.  "Ah,  pretty  love,  it'll  be  my 
precious  task  from  now  on  to  make  you  gloriously  happy. 
Now,  take  off  your  coat  and  hat  and  sit  down.  I'll 
wait  on  my  princess — my  queen!  This  is  our — our 
wedding  dinner — "  He  hesitated  and  kissed  her  again 
with  mist-filled  eyes.  "My  wedding  dinner!  My 
Patricia,  my  wife! " 

She  flamed  with  the  desire  to  tell  him  that  she  had 
feasted  and  feasted  sumptuously  upon  the  choicest  food 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     137 

of  heaven,  but  he  would  think  her  a  silly  little  goose  if 
she  said  that. 

With  a  masterful  manner  he  lead  her  to  the  table,  and 
when  he  had  seated  himself  opposite  her,  he  drew  a  long, 
ecstatic  sigh. 

"Happy,  ma  petite?"  he  questioned,  smiling  at  her. 

"  Oh,  Stephen!  "  was  all  she  could  find  voice  to  say; 
but  the  tone  she  said  it  in  and  the  tremulous  rise  and  fall 
of  her  rounded,  girlish  bosom,  sent  the  blood  pounding 
through  his  veins  in  feverish  delight.  He  forgot  that  she 
had  not  dined,  that  she  would  need  her  hands  presently. 
He  gathered  them  closely  into  his  as  if  he  contemplated 
spending  the  rest  of  his  life  thus. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  I've  done  for  the  world  to 
have  you  for  my  very  own!"  he  murmured,  kissing  her 
fingers  between  disjointed  words.  "I'll  always  remember 
how  I  felt  when  I  first  knew  that  I  just  had  to  marry  you, 
or — or  die!" 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said,  her  mouth  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

For  a  spell  he  studied  her  gravely. 

"It  was  that  first  minute  I  saw  you  in  the  theater,  and 
I  felt  just  as  I  do  now,"  he  burst  forth  fervently.  "I 
knew  you  were  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world, 
and  I  wanted  you!  You're  mine — down — down  to  this 
little  finger  nail,  this  wee  one,  aren't  you,  adorable?  Tell 
me — tell  me  quick,  or  I'll  come  around  there,  and  the 
waiter  will  catch  me  kissing  you!" 

"And  you're  mine,  too,"  she  triumphed,  "clear — clear 
up  to  that  last  red  curl.  Put  your  head  down  here  till 
I  pull  it!" 

And  thus,  like  two  rejoicing  children,  did  they  chatter 
the  precious  nothings  that  are  always  a  part  of  a  maiden's 
wedding  day. 

"Stephen  dear,  when  we're  east  in  our  very  own  place," 


138    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

she  began  rationally,  after  a  while,  "I'm  going  to  be  so 
helpful  to  you.  I  can  scarcely  wait  to  get — to  get — 
home.  I  can  see  myself  learning  endless  things  that  will 
be  valuable  to  you,  and  every  minute  I'm  going  to  be  glad 
and — grateful." 

He  quizzed  her  with  merry  eyes. 

"  I  suppose,  when  you  said  'grateful,'  you  thought  of 
that  speck  of  money  I  let  you  have." 

An  expression  of  surprised  reproach  crossed  her  face, 
and  she  sat  up  very  straight. 

"  Speck?"  she  demurred.  "  Speck,  Stephen?  Why, 
five  thousand  dollars  is  a  fortune!  What  it  meant  to  me 
is  past  describing,  and  I  want  you  to  know  what  I  did 
with  it." 

To-day  she  intended  to  open  up  that  dark  cistern  which 
until  now  had  submerged  her  girlhood  in  its  bitter  waters. 
In  the  shelter  of  his  arms  she  would  tell  him  of  the  rise 
and  fall  of  the  "  Golden  Pepperdays."  A  wonderful 
thought  came  into  her  mind.  He  was  a  lawyer,  and,  of 
course,  he  was  clever,  too,  even  if  he  did  not  practice  at 
present.  After  he  had  learned  how  her  brother  had  been 
railroaded  to  Sing  Sing,  he  would  lay  down  his  pen  for  a 
season.  She  could  see  without  effort  the  prison  gates 
open  for  Michael.  With  the  eyes  of  her  joy-brimmed 
soul  she  discerned  the  dear  King  in  Yum-yum's  arms. 
Her  strong  husband  would  bring  all  that  about,  for  he  not 
only  loved  her,  but  he  loved  justice. 

"  Don't  spoil  my  bliss  by  sordid,  financial  considera- 
tions," he  remarked  playfully.  "  My  dear,  what  in  the 
world  makes  you  so  sober?  What  are  you  thinking 
about?  —  Ah,  here  comes  the  dinner." 

For  a  few  moments  after  the  waiter  had  gone,  he 
busied  himself,  arranging  her  plate. 

"  There,"  he  said,  passing  it  across  the  table,  "  see  how 
you  like  that!  But,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  five  thousand 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     139 

dollars  is  a  speck  compared  to  what  I  have  for  you,  my 
Patricia.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  and  it  isn't  half 
bad."  He  laughed  a  gay,  boyish  laugh.  "  But  first  let 
me  see  you  empty  that  plate.  Then  I'll  give  you  a  history 
of  my  life  a  yard  long." 

In  the  pure  joy  of  living  and  loving,  she  began  to 
eat.  The  food  was  the  better  flavored  because  her 
husband  had  provided  it.  Before  each  mouthful  she 
halted,  caressing  him  with  her  eyes  over  the  suspended 
fork. 

It  seemed  then  as  if  she  had  always  known  him, 
yet  a  few  weeks  ago  he  had  been  a  stranger,  save  as  now 
and  then  his  image  had  ousted  the  fiend  incarnate,  to  stay 
but  a  moment  and  depart  once  more.  Then  she  had 
longed  to  meet  him  in  the  flesh,  to  hear  the  tones  of  his 
voice!  To-day  he  was  supremely  hers,  and  she  wor- 
shipped every  red  hair  in  his  head. 

"  Now  tell  me  if  you  like,"  she  smiled,  wiping  her 
fingers  on  her  napkin  and  sinking  in  her  chair.  "  But  I 
warn  you  I  couldn't  be  any  happier  than  I  am  this 
minute,  no  matter  what  your  secret  is." 

"  Well,  perhaps,  not  really  happier,"  he  returned. 
"  You'd  love  me  just  as  much  if  I  didn't  have  a  copper. 
But  I  imagine  you'll  be  pleased.  At  any  rate  wait  and 
see.  I  say,  darling,  did  you  notice  the  marriage  register 

—  I  mean  how  I  signed  it?" 

At  his  question  she  shook  her  head  in  amazement. 

"  Nor  that  after  putting  my  name  on  the  certificate,  I 
slipped  it  into  my  pocket  instead  of  giving  it  to  you, 
which  I  apologize  for  now?  You  know  it's  quite  cus- 
tomary for  every  wife,  especially  wee  ones,  to  take  charge 
of  the  certificate  herself.  Didn't  you  know  that?" 

"No,"  she  answered  with  wonderment.     "No!  I  —  I 

—  Oh,  Stephen,  I  was  —  so  —  gloriously  happy,  I  didn't 
think  of  anything  but  —  but  that  I  was  your  wife!" 


J40    THE    MARRIAGE   OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

*"  You  darling!"  he  interjected,  glowing.  "You  can 
say  the  sweetest  things.  They  tingle  a  fellow  from  his 
head  to  his  heels.  You  quite  turn  my  brains  inside  out. 
But  there,  I  was  about  to  tell  you  that,  of  course,  when 
you  promised  to  marry  me,  you  didn't  have  the  least 
idea  that  I  had  heaps  of  money,  did  you,  small  girl?" 

"  Heaps  of  money?"  she  repeated.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  that,  Stephen?  It  sounds  so  enormous,  so  — 
so  big  —  Like  a  lot,  I  mean.  Aren't  you  what  you  said 
you  were,  a  —  lawyer  and  —  playwright?" 

"  I  surely  am,"  he  rejoined.  "At  least  I'm  a  full-fledged 
lawyer  and  have  hopes  of  being  considered  a  playwright 
with  your  help.  Now,  for  a  double  confession!  Why, 
honey,  you  needn't  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  Bluebeard, 
ready  to  eat  you  up.  Aren't  you  glad  we've  oodles  of 
money  we  don't  have  to  slave  for?  " 

"  I  don't  just  understand,"  she  said,  her  gray  eyes 
raised  questioningly. 

Stephen  chortled  in  merriment.  He  reveled  in  that 
adoring  expression  that  shone  out  upon  him. 

"  Of  course,  you  don't!"  he  told  her. 

"  May  I  have  a  little  more  coffee,  maiden  fair,  please? 
Here!  Here!  Kiss  that  lump  of  sugar  before  you  drop 
it  in!  One  lump'll  be  enough  if  you  always  remember 
that,"  and  she  did  kiss  the  sugar  before  blushingly  hand- 
ing him  the  coffee. 

"  I  think  we  were  talking  about  —  let  me  see,"  he 
resumed,  "  I  was  just  about  to  say  that  a  girl  like  you 
thinks  of  money  only  when  it  is  necessary  to  give  it  to 
someone  else.  But  I  won't  tease  you  any  more. 

"  '  Stephen  Claypoole  '  isn't  all  my  name.  '  Claypoole  ' 
belonged  somewhere  on  my  mother's  side  and  '  Stephen  ' 
was  tucked  in  along  with  it  at  my  baptism."  He  took  a 
swallow  of  coffee  and  put  the  cup  into  the  saucer.  Then 
he  settled  back  into  his  chair. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     141 

"  When  I  came  away  from  New  York,  I  chopped  the 
head  and  tail  off  my  name,  so  I  could  be  left  alone  a  while 
by  my  newspaper  friends.  Queer,  how  a  chap  can  drop 
out  of  his  circle  and  remain  incognito  for  weeks  and 
months!  " 

It  did  not  seem  queer  to  Patricia  at  all.  Perhaps, 
lawyers  changed  their  names  at  will,  like  theatrical 
people.  She  had  done  the  same  thing;  only  she  had  not 
dropped  "  Pepperday  "  for  a  short  period  merely.  She 
never  intended  to  use  it  again. 

"  Names  don't  count,"  she  stated  without  the  least 
curiosity  in  her  tones. 

"  You're  a  wonder,  midget,"  Claypoole  chuckled. 
"  Haven't  you  the  slightest  interest  to  know  your  full  new 
name?  " 

Her  reply  was  not  immedately  forthcoming.  She  was 
beseeching  a  divine  invocation  upon  him  in  a  rapturous, 
blind  worship  which  possessed  her  wholly.  Finally,  as 
if  her  ears  had  just  caught  his  question,  she  answered: 

"  My  husband  is  Stephen,  my  Stephen.  He  still  would 
be  my  Stephen  by  any  other  name." 

"  How  exquisite  you  are,  littlest  dear,"  he  cried 
humbly.  "  And  who  am  I  that  you  should  love  me? 
What  I  am,  what  I  have,  is  yours  —  yours!  Patricia, 
my  wife,  when  we  get  back  to  New  York,  you'll  have  a 
position  as  good  as  the  best." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  on  the  stage,"  she  quivered. 
"  Of  course,  I  will,  in  your  wonderful  play,  and  —  and  I'll 
work  harder  than  I  ever  have!  I'll  make  you  proud 
of  me,  Stephen!  " 

"  But  I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  stage  when  I  said  that, 
love  girl,"  he  explained.  "  I  mean  a  social  position. 
You'll  have  that  as  soon  as  you  set  foot  in  New  York. 
And  you  shan't  have  a  care  in  the  world  —  not  one  that 
I'm  able  to  save  you  from.  And  you'll  love  my  mother, 


142     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

too,  and  she'll  take  to  you  the  first  minute  she  sees  you. 
She's  always  wanted  a  daughter.  As  my  wife  you  can  do 
anything  you  like,  have  anything  you  want,  dearest! 

"  Won't  New  York  gasp  with  excitement  when  I  take 
you  back  and  say, '  Here's  my  wife!  What  do  you  think 
of  her?  Isn't  she  a  beauty?  Isn't  she  a  flower?  Tell 
me  now,  what  you  think  of  Mrs.  Patrick  O'Kelleron!  '  " 

"  Patrick  O'Kelleron! "  The  hated  name  struck  Patricia 
like  a  blow  in  the  face. 

His  words  trailed  into  a  jumble  of  inarticulate  sounds, 
then  silence.  For  a  moment  she  kept  her  eyes  upon  him, 
scarcely  breathing.  She  could  see  his  lips  move  as  if 
he  were  telling  her  something;  but  the  buzzing  in  her 
ears  was  too  uproarious  for  the  meaning  of  what  he  said 
to  pass  into  her  consciousness.  "Patrick  O'Kelleron" 
roared  in  her  brain,  expelling  every  other  thought. 

Then  Barney's  dejected  voice  spoke  as  if  he  were 
bodily  present,  "O'Kelleron  killed  the  Pater,  Paddy!  " 
Each  word  pressed  her  farther  down  into  the  dark,  deep 
abyss  of  hate.  Patrick  O'Kelleron  had  destroyed  the 
Pater;  under  the  thunder  of  his  eloquence,  her  father  had 
dropped  down  dead. 

She  had  married  the  Pater's  murderer!  No!  God, 
no !  It  was  not  true !  Every  drop  of  blood  drained  from 
her  face,  leaving  it  so  pale  that  her  sand-gray,  horrified 
eyes  were  like  burning,  black  pools.  She  shrank  back 
into  her  chair,  her  reason  balancing  on  the  very  verge  of 
insanity.  Her  head  pained  as  it  had  in  the  nightmare 
days  in  Roosevelt  Hospital. 

Now  and  then  she  caught  an  exclamation  from  Stephen, 
intermixed  with  endearments.  The  voice  she  loved  was 
speaking,  but  she  did  not  understand  one  syllable  it 
uttered.  He  was  leaning  over  the  table;  he  was  holding 
out  both  hands  to  her.  Frozen  cold,  she  drew  farther 
back,  her  fingers  stiffly  clutching  each  other. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     143 

That  man  was  not  her  husband,  Stephen  Claypoole! 
He  was  Patrick  O'Kelleron!  No,  he  was  not!  O'Kel- 
leron's-  eyes  were  black.  Barney  had  said  so !  Her  gaze 
was  riveted  unblinkingly  upon  him.  Then  as  she  looked, 
the  red  of  his  hair  faded  slowly  to  silver,  the  blood  poured 
out  of  his  ruddy  skin,  leaving  it  death-white,  and  the 
Pater's  eyes,  eyes  slate-gray  instead  of  red-brown,  were 
staring  at  her.  For  one  awful  second  she  still  looked, 
then  her  head  sank  forward,  and  she  shuddered. 

"My  God,  what's  the  matter,.  Patricia?"  The  agitated 
tones  broke  through  the  horror  that  encompassed  her 
around  and  about. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  she  managed  to  say 
feebly. 

"I've  told  you,  dear,"  he  ejaculated  in  contrition.  "1 
wanted  to  surprise  you!  But,  Heavens,  child,  if  I'd 
known  you'd  have  taken  it  like  this,  I  wouldn't  —  No, 
dear,  I  didn't  deceive  you  really.  Stephen  Claypoole  is 
my  name." 

"It's  not  the  name;  it's  —  you  —  you!"  stammered 
from  her  blue  lips. 

"But  you  said,  dear,  I'd  be  your  Stephen  always, 
didn't  you?"  he  argued  in  earnest,  troubled  appeal. 

Yes,  she  had  said  that  very  thing,  but  —  Stephen  was 
not  Stephen.  She  was  not  able  to  answer  him,  nor  dared 
she  look  up. 

"Surely,  little  love,  you  won't  hold  that  small  deception 
against  me,"  he  went  on  swiftly.  "Why,  I  thought  it  was 
a  good  joke  all  the  time! " 

"  Joke !  Joke ! "  The  Pater  —  her  dear,  dead  father ! 
Her  small  hands  came  together  against  her  breast  in  a 
tragic  gesture. 

"Oh,  how  awful,  how  awful!"  she  moaned. 

Before  her  words  were  finished,  Stephen  was  on  his 
feet. 


144    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"What  a  fool  I  was!"  he  exclaimed,  striding  around 
the  table.  "Dear,  sensitive,  honest  little  heart!  I 
thought  you'd  laugh  with  me  and — and — " 

Shaking  like  an  aspen  leaf,  she  struggled  up.  In  her 
mental  turmoil  she  was  striving  to  think  of  a  place  where 
she  could  go  instantly.  Stephen  laid  his  hands  lovingly 
on  her  shoulders. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  quite  happy  about  it,  Patricia," 
he  insisted  desperately.  "Look  at  me,  sweet!  —  Kiss  me, 
darling!" 

She  stood  a  moment,  rocking  under  his  hands.  She 
wanted  to  look  at  —  Stephen.  She  wanted  to  kiss  him, 
to  awaken  from  the  nightmare  of  hate  for  Patrick 
O'Kelleron. 

"Look  at  me,  Patricia,"  he  begged  once  more. 

She  flashed  her  eyes  to  his  face.  He  was  Stephen, 
her  Stephen!  He  was  smiling  at  her  pleadingly.  He  had 
not  murdered  the  Pater! 

Then,  as  though  the  hand  of  Heaven  had  caught  his 
life  away,  Stephen's  dear  brown  eyes  and  tumbled  red 
hair  changed  slowly.  She  quivered  from  under  the  fingers 
on  her  shoulders.  She  tried  to  step  backward.  To  keep 
her  reason,  she  had  to  escape  somewhere  —  anywhere. 
Then  with  a  final  long  gasp,  unconsciousness  blotted  out 
the  composite  picture  of  age  and  virile  youth.  Stephen's 
great  height,  Stephen's  broad  shoulders,  with  her  father's 
hoary  head  set  upon  them,  vanished  into  darkness. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     145 


CHAPTER    XXII 

IN  the  hotel  room,  alone,  Patricia  lay  on  an  old- 
fashioned  sofa,  a  damp  cloth  across  her  brow.  The  table 
with  the  dinner  remains  upon  it  still  stood  under  the  gas 
chandelier.  Ten  minutes  before  she  had  heard  her 
husband  tiptoe  into  the  hall  and  shut  the  door  behind 
him  softly.  Of  course,  he  had  thought  her  asleep  all  the 
time  he  was  beside  her,  motionless.  How  could  he  know 
that  she  had  been  floundering  about  in  a  mental  sea  of 
agony  for  an  hour,  her  body  inertly  weak?  Sixty 
minutes!  Sixty  long  centuries  since  Stephen  Claypoole 
had  whirligigged  into  Patrick  O'Kelleron! 

Instantaneously,  with  the  first  glimmer  of  con- 
ciousness,  she  had  recollected  what  had  made  her  faint 
away.  She  remembered  in  excruciating  torment  how  her 
husband's  glowing,  clear-cut  countenance  had  suddenly 
been  submerged  by  the  drab  gray  of  the  dead.  But  she 
remembered,  too,  that  Stephen's  voice  had  brought  her 
back  from  the  edge  of  the  same  deep  chasm  that  had 
nearly  swallowed  her  up  in  New  York;  even  now,  she 
felt  very  close  to  it.  She  needed  him  this  instant  to  keep 
her  from  slipping  into  nowhere.  With  that  thought  she 
was  confronted  by  the  realization  that  Stephen  was  not 
her  Stephen  any  more.  He  was  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  And 
such  hate  as  hers  for  him,  could  never  die  —  never !  She 
had  nursed  it  too  long  for  it  to  be  any  other  than  a  sturdy 
plant,  rooted  deep  in  the  very  fiber  of  her  being. 

Turning  her  aching  head,  she  glanced  at  her  watch, 
diamond  studded,  on  her  wrist.  Stephen  had  given  it  to 
her  the  same  day  he  had  put  the  large  draft  into  her 
hand.  How  exquisitely  tender  he  had  been  then. 


146    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

That  five  thousand  dollars!  Shuddering,  she  pulled 
the  blanket  up  about  her  shoulders.  In  some  way  she 
would  have  to  recall  the  sum  she  had  sent  to  Barney. 
A  part  of  the  one  thousand  she  had  already  used  for  jim- 
cracks. 

She  sat  up  but  sank  back  slowly.  Instead  of  the  floor, 
a  yawning  hole  was  there  to  receive  her!  Where  was 
Stephen? 

She  wanted  him  —  now.  The  memory  of  his  low  voice 
soothed  her  a  little.  He  was  not  the  Pater's  murderer! 
He  was  not  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  any  more  than  she  was 
some  wicked  witch  who  went  about  slaying  little  children. 
Yet  he  had  pronounced  that  dreadful  name,  claiming  it 
as  his  own!  Ah,  it  was  false!  She  had  heard  it  in  her 
sleep !  She  had  been  dreaming,  —  and  dreams  were  not 
true  at  all. 

The  pillow  was  wet  with  her  tears.  She  could  not  live 
without  Stephen.  He  was  her  husband.  Where  were 
those  heaven-born  beliefs  that  had  stirred  her  so  sub- 
limely on  leaving  the  church?  Where  was  Yum-Yum's 
King  of  Glory? 

Once  more  she  sat  up,  looking  quite  wild.  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  had  slaughtered  her  Prince  of  Peace! 
Stephen's  bread  of  life  had  turned  to  ashes  in  her  mouth! 

"God,  God  dear,"  she  cried,  writhing,  "let  me  keep 
my  Stephen!  Pater,  blessed  Pater,  take  —  take  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  —  away  —  quick!  .  .  .  I'm  mad!  Crazy 
mad!" 

Something  like  an  icy  breath  brushed  along  her  out- 
flung  hand,  and  she  thrust  it  under  the  covering. 

Was  Stephen  never  coming  back  to  her?  Yes!  Yes! 
He  had  said  that  through  all  eternity,  they  would  be 
together! 

During  the  ensuing  minutes,  she  followed  no  conse- 
quential reasoning.  It  seemed  that  body  and  soul  to- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     147 

gather  were  caught  in  a  bog,  not  deep  enough  to  smother 
her,  yet  from  which  she  could  not  escape. 

A  step  in  the  hall,  a  springing,  rapid  step,  stirred  her 
to  move,  and,  when  Stephen  opened  the  door  and  entered, 
her  face  was  turned  toward  the  wall. 

"Did  my  girlie  think  I  was  never  coming  back?"  he 
asked  gently,  stealing  to  her  side.  "  I  thought  you  were 
asleep.  I  hoped  you  were,  and  I  ran  downstairs  to  do  a 
little  writing.  Is  your  head  better,  dearest?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  her  fingers  on  her  closed  lids. 

"I  brought  you  some  fruit,"  he  ventured.  "I'll  just 
put  it  in  this  dish." 

But  he  sighed  as  he  said  it,  for  she  made  no  answer, 
nor  did  the  small  hand  uncover  the  sand-gray  eyes  from 
which  he  passionately  desired  a  smile  of  forgiveness. 

"All  the  time  you  were  asleep,  dear,  I  cursed  myself 
for  deceiving  you,"  he  said,  returning  to  bend  over  her. 
"I  didn't  realize  how  despicable  it  was.  But  you'll  for- 
give your  big  boy  and  tell  him  you  don't  mind  a  bit  that 
he  happens  to  be  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  —  Look  at  me, 
darling!" 

The  rich,  low  voice,  that  had  reverberated  through  her 
music-loving  soul  since  first  she  had  heard  it,  was 
Stephen's!  She  loved  it! 

"Look  at  me,  Patricia,"  the  voice  commanded. 

Under  its  compelling  force,  she  slowly  twisted  around. 
Eyes  like  her  own,  that  had  long  ago  closed  their  lids 
to  the  world's  unkindness,  were  staring  at  her.  Fangs  of 
ice  gnawed  at  her  heart.  Her  lids  fluttered  and  dropped. 
She  was  horribly  afraid  of  the  haunting  thing  that  had 
identified  itself  with  her  husband. 

"I  wish  I  were  dead,"  she  gasped.  "I  don't  want  to 
live  any  longer!" 

His  face  grave  with  anxiety,  he  laid  his  cool  fingers 
on  her  throbbing  temples. 


i48    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"  Don't  say  that,  dear,"  he  pleaded.  "  It's  the  excite- 
ment that  makes  you  feel  so.  Let  me  rub  your  head  a 
little." 

As  his  fingers  traveled  over  her  brow,  she  fixed  him 
with  one  searching  glance.  The  Pater's  strained,  blue  lips 
were  speaking  words  she  did  not  understand.  The  Pater 
and  Patrick  O'Kelleron  were  mingled  together  to  kill  her. 
Was  that  it?  No!  Her  beautiful  father,  spirit  though  he 
were,  would  not  hurt  one  hair  of  her  head.  Of  that  she 
was  sure !  Then  —  then  he  had  come  back  to  the 
earth  to  stand  between  her  and  the  fiend  incarnate  whom 
she  had  married.  There  came  no  condemning  thought 
for  herself.  She  did  not  realize  that  the  hate  she  had 
hugged  against  Patrick  O'Kelleron  for  months  had  be- 
come sentiently  alive  within  her  soul  and  had  taken 
ghastly  shape  before  her  physical  sight. 

As  if  to  escape  the  cold  touch  of  death  itself,  she 
shrank  aside  and  frantically  pushed  his  hand  away. 

"No,  don't  do  that,"  she  screamed.  "Don't  touch  me, 
don't!  I  don't  want  you  to  come'  near  me! " 

A  deep  flush  crept  up  from  Stephen's  collar  and  spread 
away  in  waves  until  he  was  wax-white. 

"Patricia,"  he  protested,  standing  erect,  "please  do  let 
me  do  something  for  you,  dear.  Can't  I  make  you 
understand  how  very,  very  sorry  I  am?" 

The  hour  had  come  for  an  explanation,  or  the  minute, 
rather.  It  was  being  forced  upon  her  by  a  ghostly 
presence.  Then  where  could  she  go  in  the  world  where 
Stephen's  voice  would  not  reach  her  and  call  her  back? 
Where  to  hide  from  Patrick  O'Kelleron?  She  tried  to 
make  out  the  lineaments  of  Stephen's  face;  but  red-brown 
eyes  were  sand-gray,  and  red  hair  was  bleached  to  an 
appalling  white. 

She  crawled  off  the  sofa  and  stood  up,  wavering.  Her 
husband  caught  her  arm  and  helped  her  to  a  chair. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     149 

How  one  silly  action  could  have  so  blighted  his  pre- 
cious wife  was  beyond  his  comprehension.  He  wanted 
to  take  her  in  his  arms,  to  kiss  away  the  tears,  to  make 
her  forget  that  he  had  not  been  honorable. 

"Patricia,"  he  said  yearningly. 

As  ever,  his  enunciation  of  her  name  amounted  to  a 
caress.  Involuntarily  she  looked  at  him  but  encountered 
the  same  frightful  illusion. 

"I  —  I  can't  live  —  with  —  you  —  ever,  Stephen,"  she 
stammered. 

He  uttered  a  partially  muted  ejaculation.  Of  course, 
she  was  speaking  words  she  did  not  mean  at  all.  She  was 
nervous,  ill ;  perhaps,  a  relapse  of.  the  attack  she  had  had 
in  New  York  about  which  she  had  told  him.  She  had 
gone  to  work  too  soon.  With  eager  desire  to  quiet  her,  to 
remove  from  her  mind  the  harassing  torment  that  had 
made  her  face  so  haggard,  he  said: 

"  Do  lie  down  again,  dear.  You're  shivering.  Pa- 
tricia, you're  hurting  me  so  when  you  look  at  me  like 
that!  I'm  your  husband  —  your  Stephen!  Don't  you 
know  me?  Why  —  why  —  you  can't  leave  me!  I 
couldn't  —  I  couldn't  live  an  hour  without  you.  Do  lie 
down  and  rest,  sweet." 

What  seemed  the  brackish  tears  of  months  gathered  in 
her  throat;  drooping,  blue- veined  lids  lowered  to  blot 
out  the  sight  of  the  death  mask.  She  could  not  lie  down 
and  told  him  so. 

"Poor  darling,"  he  murmured.  "Then  let  me  put  this 
blanket  around  you.  Can't  you  tell  your  boy  what  makes 
you  feel  so  badly?" 

"Because  —  because  I'm  going  to  leave  you."  The 
words  fluttered  out  on  a  breath. 

One  of  her  slender  hands  made  impossible  his  effort  to 
look  into  her  face.  Then  he  knelt  down  beside  her. 

"No,"    he    interjected,    "don't    say  — that!      Don't, 


ISO    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Patricia!  You  love  me,  you  do!  You've  told  me  so 
over  and  over." 

"But  I'm  going  away  from  you  —  to-day  —  now,"  she 
insisted. 

Profoundly  alarmed,  he  arose  to  his  feet.  The  un- 
speakable fear  she  had  inspired  in  him  was  burning  him 
up. 

"But  love  always  forgives,  dear,"  he  urged  humbly, 
"and  we  love  each  other  too  well  to  let  anything  separate 
us.  What  more  can  I  say  to  express  how  sorry  I  am  for 
—  for  deceiving  you,  or  what  can  I  do?  You  have  but 
to  tell  me,  and  I'll  do  it  immediately. 

"Why,  Patricia  dearest,  you're  nervous  and  afraid.  I 
can  see  that,  honey!  You  think  that,  because  I  kept  one 
thing  from  you,  you  can't  trust  me;  but  you  can,  you 
can!  Listen,  dear!  I'm  your  own,  own  husband,  and 
you  belong  all  to  me  —  to  me,  Stephen." 

He  leaned  over  and  placed  his  hand  under  her  chin. 
With  his  fingers  cupping  her  cheeks,  she  stared  into  his 
eyes,  stared  at  the  face  of  a  dead  man  that  was  haunting 
her  to  insanity. 

"Now,  smile  at  me,  dear,"  he  begged  encouragingly. 
"  I'm  perishing  for  just  one  kiss,  Patricia." 

"Go  away,  for  —  for  God's  love,"  she  ejaculated, 
cringing  from  him. 

"I'm  almost  beginning  to  believe,  to  think  you  mean 
what  you  say,"  he  said  in  limp  fashion.  "But  it  isn't 
true.  It  isn't!  It  can't  be!  There's  a  frightful  mistake 
somewhere.  Let's  find  it  right  now,  littlest  dear." 

Because  her  heart  was  hammering  against  her  side, 
one  shaking  hand  went  up  to  it. 

"Won't  you  go  away  for  a  little  while — please,  please, 
Stephen"  she  petitioned  piteously.  "Yes,  it  all  has  been 
a  mistake,  a — fearful  mistake!  My — my  marrying 
you!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     151 

His  face  went  more  ashen  white!  If  there  had  been 
a  mistake,  then  it  was  a  disastrous  time  to  discover  it, 
not  two  hours  after  the  marriage  ceremony. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  mistake,  Patricia?"  he  de- 
manded. 

What  he  had  done  to  Michael  seemed  no  part  of  the 
accusation  she  had  to  make  against  him.  He  was  a 
murderer !  Her  duty  lay  in  telling  him  so ! 

"  Stephen,"  she  gulped,  looking  up  at  him,  "  I — I — " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  sobbed  convulsively.  The 
grisly  gray  head  on  her  husband's  shoulders  had  moved 
slowly  in  negation.  The  Pater  had  commanded  her  to 
silence. 

"I  can't  return  the  money  you  let  me  have,  Stephen," 
she  burst  out,  "  for  I  haven't  it  now.  But  I'll  go  to  New 
York  and  work,  and — and  you  shall  have  the  whole 
amount  as  soon  as  I  can  earn  it.  Oh;  I  want  to  go  home 
to  my  mother!  I  won't  bother  you!  I'll  never  try  to 
see  you!" 

Stephen's  head  seemed  to  spin  around  like  a  top;  his 
ears  hummed  as  though  a  million  bees  were  buzzing 
within  them.  Could  she  mean  to  leave  him  forever? 
That  he  could  not  and  would  not  bear! 

"If  I  take  you  to  Butte,  will  you  stay  there  with  me  a 
while?"  he  asked  mechanically.  "Will  you  give  me  one 
more  chance,  Patricia?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I'll  do,"  she  groaned.  "I  don't 
know — I  don't  know! "  She  put  her  hands  to  her  aching 
head.  "No,  I  can't  promise  to  live  with  you  in  Butte — 
or  any — where  else.  Stephen,  will  you  let — let  me — have 
these  rooms — alone — now — until  we  go  away  from  here?" 

"No,"  shot  from  his  lips.  "No,  Patricia,  I  will  not! 
You're  my  wife,  and  you  married  me  of  your  own  free 
will.  You  think  I  don't  love  you,  but  I  do,  my  Patricia!" 

Suddenly,  unexpectedly  he  snatched  her  from  the  chair 


152     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

into  his  arms.  He  pressed  her  face  against  his  breast 
fiercely.  He  knew  he  was  hurting  her,  nor  was  he 
sorry.  He  was  simply  crazed  with  a  longing  which 
nothing  could  assuage  but  subduing  the  girl  who  had 
married  him  and  then  had  thrust  aside  his  adoration  as 
a  useless,  unvalued  thing. 

"I  love  you,  my  girl!"  beat  upon  her  ears  over  and 
over.  "You're  mine,  sweet,"  seemed  to  tear  at  her  heart 
as  if  small  knives  were  hacking  at  it.  "Never,  so  long  as 
I  live,  will  I  let  you  go!" 

Then  his  lips  burned  against  hers,  roved  in  passionate 
strength  over  her  cheeks  and  against  her  mouth.  Carried 
with  him  into  the  depths  of  a  great  passion,  she  rushed 
along  on  its  tide,  blind  and  deaf  to  all  but  his  kisses  and 
endearments.  When  he  ceased,  she  hung  in  his  arms, 
half-fainting. 

Then  all  of  sudden  the  sad-eyed  phantom  with  its 
pasty,  lackluster  face  took  shape  again  in  the  line  of  her 
vision.  Then  it  was  true!  The  Pater  had  left  the  high 
heavens,  had  come  down  to  earth  to  condemn  her  union 
with  Patrick  O'Kelleron!  She  was  not  crazy  at  all.  The 
simple  fact  had  been  proved  to  her  that  spirits  were 
permitted  by  God  to  make  known  their  desires  to  their 
earth-bound  loved  ones.  The  Pater  had  done  that!  He 
would  not  allow  her  to  lie  one  second  on  the  heart  of 
the  man  who  had  crushed  the  Pepperdays. 

She  wrenched  herself  free,  fled  past  the  distracted 
man  and  vanished  into  the  sleeping  room,  leaving  behind 
but  the  faintly  perceptible  scent  of  violets. 

On  tossing  the  tumblers  in  the  lock  of  the  door  that 
separated  her  from  her  husband,  Patricia  staggered 
across  the  room  to  the  dressing  table  and  flung  herself 
into  a  chair. 

"Stephen,  Pater,  Patrick  O'Kelleron!"  fell  from  her 
lips.  "  God,  isn't  it  awful!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     153 

She  sent  a  quick  glance  over  her  shoulder,  half-expect- 
ing to  see  the  ghost  of  her  father  drift  through  the  panels 
of  the  door. 

When,  in  relief,  she  turned  back,  her  eyes  encountered 
her  own  face  in  the  mirror.  The  reflection  thrown  upon 
her  from  that  circle  of  bevel-edged  crystal,  was  dead 
white.  She  held  her  breath  and  listened.  No  sound 
came  from  the  man  she  had  just  left.  She  dropped  her 
chin  into  her  hand,  clenching  her  fingers  around  it.  She 
set  small  teeth  together,  grating  them,  saw-like. 

And  hours  later  found  her  still  sitting,  head  down  on 
her  folded  arms, — and  deep  silence  in  the  room  beyond. 


154    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

TEN  hours  slowed  by,  eternal  hours  to  Stephen  Clay- 
poole.  His  wedding  night  had  been  spent  in  a  state 
of  dazed  wakefulness.  Hurt  pride  had  kept  him  from 
forcing  himself  into  his  wife's  presence.  She  had  locked 
the  door;  that  was  enough! 

Early  morning  found  him  prowling  restlessly  around 
deserted  streets,  waiting  for  the  barber  to  take  down  his 
shutters. 

Later,  when  he  entered  their  suite,  Patricia  was  sitting 
near  the  window,  her  hands  clasped  together  in  her  lap. 
The  night  had  given  her  a  small  relief  that  her  husband, 
in  his  ignorance,  had  not  received.  Her  father  might 
have  been  present  in  the  flesh  from  the  way  in  which  she 
had  talked  in  whisperings  to  him.  In  her  superstitious 
fear  she  had  promised  the  dear  ghost  over  and  over  that 
she  would  acquiesce  in  his  guidance  whatever  it  might  be, 
until  towards  morning  she  had  fallen  into  a  fitful  sleep. 

She  was  relieved  to  find  Stephen  absent  when  she  crept 
into  the  sitting  room.  The  next  hour,  perhaps,  would 
separate  them  forever.  She  must  accustom  herself  to 
the  thought  so  that  she  would  not  break  down  at  the  last 
minute. 

Before  closing  the  door,  Stephen  halted  a  moment. 
One  quick  glance  at  his  wife  told  him  that  she  was  un- 
doubtedly ill,  and  that,  like  himself,  she  had  slept  but 
little.  Yet,  that  she  was  in  the  same  frame  of  mind  as 
when  she  had  raced  away  the  night  before,  was  borne  in 
upon  him  significantly.  She  had  given  him  no  greeting; 
nor  had  she  deigned  him  a  look. 

"I'll  order  coffee,  Patricia,"  he  said,  walking  to  the 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     155 

telephone,  "and  toast,  too.  You'll  drink  some  coffee, 
won't  you?" 

"Yes,  Stephen,  please,"  she  murmured. 

Silence  reigned  until  the  waiter  appeared  with  the  tray 
and  had  gone  out  again.  Each  managed  to  swallow  a 
cup  of  hot  coffee,  but  the  food  remained,  untasted.  Bit- 
ter bewilderment  kept  the  young  husband  from  making 
impetuous  demands,  and  Patricia  was  studying  how  to 
frame  requests  that  would  hurt  him  least. 

Suddenly  she  stammered : 

"Stephen,  if — if  I  promise  to  return  that  money,  may 
I  go  to  New  York  to-morrow?" 

"You  may  not,"  he  retorted.  "Your  place  is  with 
me."  He  made  the  statement  swiftly,  smothering  a  desire 
to  blurt  out  the  thoughts  that  had  tortured  him  during  the 
night. 

"But  you  won't  be  happy  if  you  keep  me  with  you," 
she  said  in  anguish.  "Can  I  say  more  than  that  I'm 
sorry,  oh,  so  sorry  for — for — " 

"Yes,  you  might  say  a  great  deal  more,  if  you  would, 
Patricia,"  he  interrupted.  "You  might  be  truthful  with 
me!  Just  what  do  you  wish  me  to  believe?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  want  you  to  believe,"  she  replied 
wearily.  "Only  this,  Stephen:  I  can't — I  can't  live  with 
you." 

They  were  the  same  words  she  had  spoken  the  day 
previous  and,  because  she  had  had  time  to  reflect,  they 
cut  him  deeper. 

"Didn't  you  intend  to  live  with  me  when  you  married 
me?"  he  choked. 

She  was  hurting  him  horribly,  she  knew  that.  Her 
own  nerves  were  like  thistles  pricking  inward.  As  yet 
she  could  not  truly  look  upon  the  Stephen  she  had  loved 
and  married  as  the  Patrick  O'Kelleron  she  had  only  heard 
about.  There  seemed  to  be  three  entities  in  the  one  big 


156    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

frame  of  her  husband, — her  own  man  whose  voice  was 
sweeter  to  her  ears  than  any  other  sound,  the  Pater,  his 
incorporeal  eyes  demanding  her  supreme  sacrifice,  and — 
Patrick  O'Kelleron. 

"Didn't  you,  Patricia?"  he  asked  once  more,  greatly 
agitated. 

She  had  to  strangle  a  desire  to  leap  into  his  arms,  to 
implore  him  to  help  her,  but  fear  of  the  Pater's  disap- 
probation held  her  back. 

"I — I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing,"  she  faltered, 
"and  I  suddenly  realized  I  couldn't  live  with  you.  Oh, 
won't  you  let  me  go,  Stephen?" 

Stephen  Claypoole  guided  his  horses  out  of  Butte 
in  a  stupefaction  that  had  come  upon  him  in  Idaho  Falls. 

His  wife's  trance-like  state,  which  had  settled  her  into 
a  silence  that  he  could  break  but  momentarily,  gave  him 
grave  concern. 

And  it  was  not  until  they  had  left  the  snow-draped 
city  behind  them  that  Patricia  aroused  herself. 

"Where  are  we  going,  Stephen?"  she  appealed,  scarcely 
above  a  whisper.  "We're  driving  directly  away  from  the 
town,  aren't  we?" 

By  this  time  the  horses  were  plodding  up  grade  and 
needed  but  little  attention.  Inwardly  congratulating 
himself  that  she  was  already  beginning  to  manifest  an 
interest  in  external  things,  he  half-turned  about  in  her 
direction. 

"We've  just  left  Galena  Gulch,  dear,"  he  replied. 

"  Stephen,  Stephen  dear,"  she  cried  in  a  panic, 
"you're  not  taking  me  to  the  'Eagle's  Nest!'  Are  you? 
Couldn't  we  stay  in  Butte  a  while,  or  go  somewhere  else? 
I — can't — go  up — there — with  you!" 

The  look  he  bent  upon  her  was  full  of  tender  patience, 
indulgent  of  her  whims. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     157 

"Don't  say  that  till  you've  tried  it,  sweet,"  he  admon- 
ished. "I'm  hoping  you'll  love  it  as  I  do,  and  I'm  sure 
it'll  do  you  a  lot  of  good." 

Queer  little  sensations  ran  the  length  of  her  spine,  and 
it  was  not  the  winter  gales  that  caused  them.  His  words 
were  kind  and  spoken  in  the  voice  that  invariably  tended 
to  tranquilize  her,  but  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  in- 
flexibility about  his  whole  attitude  that  betokened  his  de- 
termination to  be  master.  She  was  growing  mortally 
afraid  of  her  big  husband.  She  attempted  to  calm  her- 
self. She  remembered  how  gallant  he  had  always  been. 
Then  a  wave  of  faintness  swept  over  her  as  she  recalled 
that  Stephen  was  not  Stephen  any  more.  He  was 
Patrick  O'Kelleron,  and — and  he  delighted  in  killing 
people.  The  finality  in  his  tones  sent  her  into  a  hope- 
less silence. 

On  and  on,  among  the  swirling  sheets  of  drifting  snow, 
they  traveled,  farther  and  farther  into  the  vast  spaces  of 
the  hills,  until  Patricia  began  to  realize  what  he  had 
meant  when  he  had  said,  "The  'Eagle's  Nest'  is  far  away 
from  the  rest  of  the  world." 

About  the  time  the  audience  was  leaving  Alf  Carraby's 
theater  in  Butte  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon  performance, 
Stephen  drove  into  a  wide  clearing  and  pulled  his  horses 
to  a  stop. 

"Here  we  are  at  last,  Patricia,"  he  said,  turning  to  her. 

Through  her  tears,  which  she  could  not  swallow  away, 
she  saw  a  house,  its  back  door  set  close  to  a  belt  of 
mountain  trees.  The  front  of  it  was  cheerful,  a  shining 
light  displayed  in  each  window.  Smudges  of  smoke 
poured  from  the  chimney  and  were  carried  into  the  snow 
by  the  wind. 

She  had  visualized  every  change  that  might  come  for 
her  save  this — the  "Eagle's  Nest!"  Did  Stephen  intend 
to  keep  her  here?  No,  he  would  not  do  that!  It  would 


158     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

be  the  extreme  of  cruelty!  Yet,  as  she  stole  one  look  at 
the  brawny  shoulders  of  the  man,  she  decided  he  could 
be  as  cruel  to  her  as  he  had  been  to  the  rest  of  the  Pepper- 
days. 

"I  can't  go  in,"  she  gulped  between  low-caught  sobs. 

"Bless  us,  midget,"  he  expostulated  tolerantly,  as  to  a 
fractious  child,  "surely  you  can!"  He  kicked  away  the 
fur  robe  and  jumped  to  the  ground.  "Now,  then,  I'll 
help  you  out!" 

She  closed  her  eyes  when  she  felt  herself  lifted  by  two 
powerful  arms.  A  short  whirl  through  space,  and  the 
next  thing  she  knew  she  was  standing  dizzily  on  the  porch, 
her  hand  held  tightly  within  her  husband's  warm  clasp. 
For  an  instant  they  clung  together.  To  lean  upon  his 
decisive  strength  was  a  relief  to  her  distracted  mind,  and 
sensing  her  involuntary  yielding,  he  vowed  happily  to 
himself  that  if  loving  kindness  could  restore  his  wounded 
"birdie,"  he  would  give  it  to  her  in  measureless  quanti- 
ties. 

"  We're  home,  Patricia,"  he  breathed  into  her  ear. 

"The  horses,  Ming,"  he  gave  order  to  a  Mongolian  who 
had  appeared  in  the  doorway,  "and — then  supper  as  soon 
as  you  can  get  it  ready." 

Then  he  guided  Patricia  into  a  spacious  living  room 
where  blazed  a  huge  log  fire. 

It  was  furnished  with  an  eye  to  elegance.  Luxurious 
chairs  clustered  about  the  grate.  A  long,  refectory 
table,  used  evidently  for  dining,  stood  between  two  of  the 
three  windows.  In  a  corner — and  she  stared  at  it  as  if 
suddenly  a  friend  had  loomed  up  before  her — was  a  small 
baby  grand  piano.  She  felt  a  frantic  desire  to  fly  to  it, 
somehow,  to  seek  refuge.  Making  no  move  to  take  off 
her  wraps,  she  left  Stephen's  side  and  walked  over  to  it. 
It  was  on  the  type  of  her  own  piano  at  home,  and  loneli- 
ness swept  her  like  a  tempest.  A  sheet  of  song  music  was 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     159 

spread  open  as  though  some  one  had  just  ceased  singing. 
Then  she  leaned  against  the  piano  and  wept  stormily. 

"Let  me  help  you  off  with  your  furs,  Patricia,"  ex- 
claimed Stephen,  himself  moved  almost  to  tears. 

She  looked  so  tiny  as  she  stood  there  in  that  drooping 
attitude  that  he  crossed  the  room,  eager  to  soothe  her. 

"Don't  feel  so  badly,  dear,"  he  entreated. 

She  shivered  away  to  escape  the  hand  she  felt  on  her 
arm. 

"My  darling,  won't  you  listen  to  me?"  he  breathed. 
"Surely — surely  you  know  how  I  love  you." 

Instantly  she  was  erect.  She  crushed  back  the  hysteria 
that  swelled  her  throat  full.  Then  with  trembling  fingers 
she  wiped  her  eyes.  She  knew  he  was  waiting  for  an 
answer.  That  he  was  suffering  was  evident  in  his  loud 
breathing.  With  a  superhuman  effort  she  made  herself 
say: 

"The  piano  made  me  homesick.  I'm  sorry!  I'll  be 
perfectly  all  right  in  a  minute." 

Under  the  circumstances  it  was  a  plucky  fight  she 
fought  for  calmness.  For  one  fleeting  second  her  eyes 
roved  over  the  shining  top  of  the  piano,  then  centered  on 
the  sheet  of  music.  Familiar  words  came  out  of  the 
whiteness  of  it,  and  she  read : 

"There  is  a  River,  the  Streams  whereof  shall  make  Glad 
the  City  of  God.  Rearranged  by  Martin  Brewer.  Dedi- 
cated to  the  'Golden  Pepperdays.' " 

A  blast  of  wind  shook  the  house  and  shrieked  through 
the  mountain  trees.  Then  it  quieted  into  moaning 
sounds,  like  the  groans  of  souls  in  torment. 

She  was  still  staring  at  the  song  she  had  sung  to 
Michael, — to  David,  the  shepherd  boy.  A  low,  hoarse 
cough  reached  her  ears.  Stephen  was  near  her.  Stephen 
was  coughing!  He  was  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"Stephen,"  she  gasped,  putting  her  hands  over  her  face, 


160    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Stephen,  take  me  away  from  this  awful  place!  Please 
tell  me  you  will — to-night — now!" 

Every  word  was  a  wail,  uttered  in  pain. 

In  spite  of  his  good  resolves,  renewed  but  a  minute  or 
two  before,  his  response  was  harsher  than  he  intended  or 
realized : 

"Don't  be  foolish,  child!" 

Then  he  lapsed  into  the  watchful  silence  that  had 
become  his  habitual  attitude  since  leaving  Idaho  Falls. 

He  was  so  quiet  that  she  flung  around  on  him,  but  it  was 
not  Stephen,  her  smiling  Stephen,  who  stood  there.  His 
giant  figure,  erect,  vital,  its  grouped  muscles  plainly  re- 
vealed through  his  clothes,  carried  a  dead  man's  head! 
She  dropped  her  lids  in  unsuppor table  wretchedness. 
Her  father's  spirit  had  followed  her  from  Idaho  Falls  to 
Butte,  through  Galena  Gulch  and  over  the  hills  to  the 
"  Eagle's  Nest."  She  opened  her  lips  to  tell  Patrick  O'Kel- 
leron  that  he  and  the  dead  Pater  would  kill  her  between 
them,  but  no  sound  came.  Some  gripping  power  kept 
locked  within  her  the  words  she  felt  she  must  speak.  Yet 
apart  from  her  father  and  O'Kelleron,  there  was  Stephen. 
He  was  one  of  the  trinity  of  men  that  controlled  her.  She 
must  always  remember  that. 

The  thought  pressed  upon  her  that,  if  she  were  miser- 
able, he  was  as  much  so,  and  enormous  sympathy  for  them 
both  rose  and  stifled  -her.  Above  all  things  she  wanted 
Stephen  to  be  happy.  She  wanted  to  be  happy  her- 
self, too!  But  she  never  would  be — never!  She  stepped 
aside  to  avoid  him  and  walked  to  the  grate. 

When  he  followed  her  and  removed  her  long  fur  coat 
and  hat,  she  made  no  resistance.  She  seemed  to  the 
troubled  husband  to  be  again  enveloped  in  a  trance.  How 
little-girl-like  she  was  with  the  locks  of  glistening  hair, 
curling  damply  about  her  neck!  She  was  his!  His  wife, 
so  delicately  small ! 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     161 

To  bring  her  back  to  normal  womanhood  through 
tenderness,  through  love,  was  his  task  from  now  on. 

An  hour  later  he  piloted  her  over  the  house  and  in- 
sisted that  she  take  any  room  or  rooms  for  which  she 
might  have  a  fancy. 

"There  aren't  so  many  to  pick  from,  Patricia,"  he  ex- 
plained, "but  take  your  choice.  I  suggest  the  snuggery, 
the  suite  with  the  sun  porch." 

"No,  those  rooms  belong  to  you/'  she  told  him. 

She  had  noticed  his  papers  scattered  about  on  the  walls 
and  tables.  There  came  into  her  mind  the  sickening 
thought  that  where  she  slept,  what  she  had  to  eat,  made 
not  the  slightest  difference  so  long  as  Stephen  insisted  he 
was  Patrick  O'Kelleron. 

She  chose  a  good-sized  chamber  that  adjoined  the  living 
room,  and,  as  she  listlessly  arranged  her  toilet  articles  on 
the  dressing  table,  she  dully  denied  she  would  be  there 
long  enough  to  go  to  all  that  fuss  and  bother. 

Immediately  after  dinner,  which  was  a  dismal  meal,  in- 
deed, Stephen  left  her  sitting  by  the  grate,  and  she  saw 
him  no  more  that  evening.  Sometimes  she  found  her- 
self listening  intently  for  the  unlatching  of  his  door  and 
wondering  if  he  were  going  to  retire  without  bidding  her 
"Good-night."  She  did  not  realize  how  difficult  it  was 
for  a  man  of  strong  natural  tendencies  to  contemplate  her 
loveliness  and  hold  in  check  an  overweening  passion. 

Several  times  a  great  desire  came  to  her  to  touch  the 
piano.  Once  she  tiptoed  to  the  instrument,  but  "There  is 
a  River"  sent  her  cowering  back  to  her  place  near  the 
fire. 

Occasionally  she  heard  her  husband  stir  about  behind 
his  closed  door,  and  the  frequent  sputter  of  matches  evi- 
denced how  often  he  lighted  a  cigarette.  It  would  be  un- 
truthful to  say  that  she  was  not  tempted,  more  than  once, 


162     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

to  creep  into  his  den  just  to  be  near  him.  She  knew  she 
would  not  dare  to  look  at  him.  Yet,  she  felt  persuaded 
that  his  voice  would  dissolve  the  pain  in  her  head. 

She  could  find  no  future  for  herself  in  the  perilous 
path  her  mind  traveled.  In  a  short  time  Stephen  would 
hate  her,  and  the  dawning  of  that  day  would  find  her  in 
her  grave.  The  vast  silence,  broken  only  by  the  soughing 
of  the  wind  through  the  mountain  passes,  bore  down  upon 
her  in  appalling  isolation.  If  one  evening  were  so  long, 
how  could  she  bear  a  succession  of  them! 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     163 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  small  hand  of  the  clock  set  in  a  traveling  case  on 
the  table  pointed  to  the  hour  of  nine  as  Patricia  opened 
her  eyes.  She  had  been  dimly  conscious  of  the  strange, 
gray  chamber  with  its  shadowy  corners  since  the  dawn 
had  peered  in  at  the  window.  Between  spells  of  dozing 
she  had  been  aware  of  the  Chinaman  moving  in  the  living 
room,  the  crackle  of  the  small  wood  in  the  grate  and  later 
the  roar  of  the  flaming  logs.  It  was  Stephen's  speaking 
that  inhibited  every  suggestion  of  further  sleep. 

"Arrange  a  tray  for  Mrs.  Claypoole,"  she  heard  dis- 
tinctly in  tones  resonantly  clear.  "Coffee,  fruit  and  toast, 
Ming." 

Stimulated  to  action,  Patricia  crawled  to  the  floor, 
every  muscle  uttering  a  separate  protest.  Rather  would 
she  have  stayed  under  the  blankets  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  But  she  preferred  going  to  the  table  for  her  break- 
fast than  that  Stephen  should  enter  and  find  her  in  bed. 

She  shivered  into  her  clothes  swiftly,  silently.  Stab- 
bing a  pin  into  her  collar,  she  peered  out  through  the 
frosted  window  pane.  The  blizzard  of  snow  and  wind, 
threatened  yesterday,  had  taken  possession  of  the  hills 
during  the  night. 

What  a  wild  world  it  was,  this  country  to  which  Stephen 
had  brought  her!  All  of  a  sudden  her  life  had  been  torn 
from  its  moorings  and  cast  into  just  such  a  whirlpool  of 
storm. 

Again  Stephen  spoke  outside,  and  she  dashed  precipi- 
tately to  the  door.  But  it  took  more  than  courage  to 
open  it.  Another  prod  in  the  shape  of  an  order  to  the 
Chinaman  forced  her  hand  to  the  knob. 


1 64    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Get  a  vase  of  water,  and  put  the  roses  in  it,  Ming," 
were  the  words  that  touched  her  deeply. 

She  opened  the  door,  and,  as  she  closed  it,  she  gave 
timid  greeting: 

"Good-morning,  Stephen!  It's  a  fearful  morning,  isn't 
it?" 

Stephen  dog-eared  his  book  and,  rising,  placed  it  on 
the  shelf.  He  went  ghastly  pale  as  he  noticed  that  she 
studiously  kept  her  eyes  averted  from  him. 

"Good  morning,  Patricia!  The  blizzard's  here  to 
stay  for  a  time,  I  imagine,"  he  answered.  "Come  to  the 
fire.  I  was  just  going  to  bring  you  some  coffee." 

"Thanks  very  much,"  she  murmured,  sinking  into  a 
chair.  "I  was  quite  able  to  get  up.  I  don't  want  to 
put  you  to  any  bother." 

A  short  silence  succeeded  during  which  Claypoole  was 
striving  for  composure. 

Finally,  "Did  the  wind  keep  you  awake?"  he 
asked. 

"No,  not  the  wind,"  she  replied,  one  hand  clasping  the 
back  of  the  other.  "I — I  was  thinking  of  you,  Stephen." 

The  restraint  he  had  placed  on  his  nerves  suddenly 
broke  down.  He  forgot  entirely  that  he  had  spent  the 
night  resolving  never  to  speak  one  harsh  word  to  her  or 
one  recriminating  sentence. 

"Why  of  me?"  he  demanded  bitterly.  "You  loathe 
me  so,  you  can't  bear  to  look  at  me." 

"Loathe  him!"  Why,  she  loved  every  inch  of  him! 
He  knew  that !  She  had  told  him  so  a  million  times !  No, 
the  person  she  abhorred  with  the  fervor  of  a  devotee  for 
his  religion,  was  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  She  turned  abruptly 
and  met  his  brilliant,  almost  scornful  eyes.. 

Against  the  background  of  the  ice-embellished  window, 
he  appeared  supernatural,  uncannily  gray  to  her  afflicted, 
unbalanced  mind. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     165 

Flushing  painfully,  she  crouched  again  before  the  fire. 
She  felt  as  if  her  body  were  wrapped  in  ice.  But  her 
head  was  so  full  it  seemed  ready  to  split  open  at  any 
moment.  The  pounding  in  her  ears  was  fearful.  For  an 
instant  she  grew  tense  with  the  longing  to  brave  both  the 
Pater's  deathly  presence  and  the  memories  of  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  and  find  her  husband.  But  she  relaxed  into 
limpness  when  the  thought  went  through  her  mind  that 
Stephen  was  Patrick  O'Kelleron  and  that  her  father  had 
come  again  to  haunt  her  away  from  the  man  she  had 
married. 

"I  asked  you  why  you  were  thinking  of  me,"  Stephen 
repeated. 

Tears  were  brimming  her  lids,  and  tears  were  in  her 
voice,  too,  when  she  answered: 

"Why — why,  I  don't  know — exactly,  Stephen!  But — 
but — I  tried — to  pray  for  you,  and — and  for  myself." 

"I  suppose  you  thought  Stephen  Claypoole  needed 
praying  for,"  he  mocked.  "Did  you  mention  in  your 
petitions,  Patricia,  that  I  was  a  liar  and  a  deceitful  cad?" 

"You  know  I  did  not,"  she  breathed.  "I  want,  oh,  I 
want  you  to  be  happy,  Stephen,  and  I  want  to  be  happy 
myself!" 

He  sat  down  in  a  chair  so  heavily  that  its  joints 
creaked. 

"And  doesn't  it  strike  you  that  you're  taking  a  queer 
road  to  make  either  one  of  us  happy?"  he  questioned. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  acknowledged,  and  surely  she  had 
told  the  truth.  She  had  no  understanding  that  would 
lead  either  one  of  them  into  a  way  of  peace. 

"But  won't  you  talk  to  me,  Patricia?"  he  burst  forth. 
"Nothing  can  be  different  if  you  won't  listen  to 
reason.  .  .  .  You're  breaking  my  heart." 

As  he  spoke,  he  throbbed  with  mixed  emotions.  She 
was  surpassingly  beautiful  this  morning,  even  though  she 


1 66    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

was  more  ethereal  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  There  was 
a  babyish  droop  about  her  mouth,  too,  that  mouth  made 
for  kisses,  that  drove  him  to  madness. 

"Then  let  me  go  away,"  she  rejoined,  "and — and  for- 
get— about  me." 

He  sprang1  to  his  feet  in  such  haste  that  his  chair  went 
tumbling  backward,  but  he  remembered,  as  he  righted  it, 
his  resolutions  of  the  past  night. 

"I  forgot  to  say  that  there  are  letters  here  for  you, 
Patricia,"  he  said  after  a  momentary  pause.  "I  tele- 
phoned the  messenger  who  brings  up  my  mail  to  inquire 
for  yours,  too.  Forgive  me,  dear,  for  saying  what  I  did. 
I — I  quite  forgot  myself.  I — the  fact  is —  Ah,  here's 
Ming  with  the  breakfast." 

The  appearance  of  the  Chinaman  put  an  end  to 
Stephen's  apology.  Patricia  seated  herself  before  the 
coffee  urn,  and  her  husband,  as  if  he  were  not  in  the  least 
interested  in  them,  passed  her  several  letters  which  she 
took  with  a  suppressed,  "Thank  you!"  She  glanced  at 
them  and  laid  them,  unopened,  beside  her  plate.  Coffee, 
almost  scalding  hot,  partially  succeeded  in  washing  down 
the  marble-like  ball  that  had  cemented  itself  in  her  throat. 

"Please  eat  something,  do,  Patricia,"  insisted  Stephen 
as  he  noticed  her  untouched  breakfast.  "You  don't  eat 
enough  to  keep  a  bird  alive!  Won't  you,  dear?  An 
egg,  perhaps;  some  cereal?" 

Because  she  wished  to  please  him,  she  forced  herself 
to  eat  a  piece  of  toast.  Then  she  went  back  to  the  grate 
with  her  letters  in  her  hand. 

There  was  one  from  Barney  which,  instead  of  bringing 
her  joy,  only  piled  on  her  agony.  The  money  was  a  God- 
send. He  had  given  in  his  notice.  He  would  fly  to  New 
York  to  start  the  good  work  for  Michael.  She  could 
write  him  at  Cavendish's.  He  wished  her  a  thousand 
happinesses  and  added: 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     167 

"Here's  hoping  your  new  man  deserves  you,  Paddy 
dear.  Give  him  my  congratulations  on  winning  the  finest, 
sweetest  girl  in  the  world." 

A  letter  from  Michael  she  slipped  into  her  pocket.  She 
dared  not  read  it  in  her  husband's  presence. 

She  flung  Barney's  missive  into  the  grate  and  sank 
back  sighing.  O'Kelleron  money  was  already  at  work 
for  Michael! 

"I  received  a  letter  from  my  mother  this  morning," 
remarked  Stephen  when  the  silence  grew  oppressive. 
"She'll  be  glad  when  I  get  home." 

"Do  you  know  when  you're  going  back?"  Patricia 
asked,  turning  her  head  slightly. 

"No,  not  yet!  I  can't  say  I  do!  I'd  start  for  New 
York  to-morrow  night  if  you  were  better,  but  my  first 
duty  is  to  you — of  course.  My  sweet,  my  own  dear 
little  girl—" 

Time  to  finish  his  appeal  was  denied  him  because 
Patricia  arose  from  her  chair.  Anguished,  she  glided  into 
her  room  and  closed  the  door.  She  could  not  endure  the 
sadness  in  his  dear  voice.  If  for  five  minutes  he  were 
Stephen,  one  minute  separated  from  the  Pater  and  the 
hateful  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  she  could  find  a  willing  tongue 
to  open  her  breaking  heart  to  him. 

Her  room  was  warm  now.  Ming  had  set  a  grate  fire 
going,  and  she  sat  down  in  front  of  it.  She  drew  forth 
Michael's  letter,  but  its  reading  gave  occasion  for  bitter 
sorrow.  It  was  so  typical  of  the  dear  King,  that  letter. 
He  was  as  happy  as  a  fellow  could  be  under  the  circum- 
stances, he  wrote.  Yes,  he  hoped  to  get  a  new  trial,  but 
he  did  not  want  any  one  to  worry  about  it,  even  if  it  could 
not  be  accomplished  He  would  very  much  like  to  see  her 
and  hoped  she  would  come  to  Sing  Sing  as  soon  as  she 
returned  to  New  York.  He  sent  her  lots  of  love,  and  that 
sentence  was  almost  illegible  with  his  tears. 


1 68    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

The  morning  passed  drearily  enough.  She  dared  to 
issue  forth  to  luncheon  but  ate  alone,  for  Stephen  stayed 
in  the  snuggery. 

Miserably  she  crept  back  to  her  chamber  and  spent  the 
afternoon  in  vain  planning. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    169 


CHAPTER  XXV 

FUTILITY  stared  Martin  Brewer  in  the  face.  Although 
the  fear  that  had  loomed  upon  his  horizon  at  Michael 
Pepperday's  conviction  had  gradually  lessened,  he  was 
swallowed  up  by  a  new,  strange  emotion, — that  of  de- 
testing himself.  He  had  never  cherished  the  slightest 
conceit  as  to  his  genius  or  his  intellectual  power;  but  he 
had  always  believed  in  his  work  and  adored  it.  Not  at 
this  juncture,  though!  Love  had  died  on  the  tip  of  his 
pen,  and,  shocked  at  the  tragedy,  he  had  laid  his  manu- 
script aside. 

In  defense  of  Benny,  who — now  in  a  dangerous  condi- 
tion— called  upon  his  protective  instincts  more  than  ever, 
he  had  prostituted  his  soul  before  a  contemptible  scare- 
crow. His  bete  noir  was  William  Foster,  or,  to  be  more 
exact,  the  letters  he  had  received  almost  daily  from  that 
young  man,  since  he  had  requested  him  not  to  come  to 
his  office  again  until  he  was  sent  for. 

In  answer  to  Foster's  effusions,  Martin  had  sent  hush 
money,  but,  as  he  told  himself  grimly,  it  was  like  throwing 
sand  into  a  rat  hole.  Yet,  he  had  to  keep  the  rogue  quiet 
until  he  found  out  just  what  Benny  knew,  just  what  he 
had  done. 

The  thought  continually  gnawed  at  Brewer's  conscious- 
ness that  he  ought  to  go  to  the  District  Attorney's  office, 
make  his  statement  and  then  thrust  the  bulk  of  his  fortune 
between  the  law  and  his  son. 

Once  he  had  actually  gone  downtown  to  rid  himself  of 
the  monstrous  secret,  but,  on  reaching  the  prosecutor's 
office,  he  had  tamely  asked  news  of  Patrick  O'Kelleron 
instead.  He  had  never  been  able  to  summon  courage  to 


i  yo    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

go  again.  He  always  salved  his  conscience  with  the  assur- 
ance that  sometime  Benny  would  be  well  enough  to  con- 
fess just  what  he  had  done  at  Cavendish's. 

For  a  long  while  he  had  hung  in  suspense  between  two 
evils,  the  lesser  of  which  he  had  decided  were  Foster's 
blackmailing  missives.  To  see  the  fellow  every  day  or 
so,  as  he  had  at  one  time,  to  put  himself  in  the  way  of  a 
detailed  conspiracy  with  the  pestilential  cur, — well,  that 
he  had  not  been  invested  with  strength  to  stomach. 

But  now  he  had  to  endure  an  interview  with  Foster 
whether  he  wanted  to  or  not.  The  mail  had  delivered 
a  note  from  him  that  contained  this  terse  statement: 

"It's  important  that  I  should  see  you  immediately. 
There's  talk  of  a  new  trial  for  Michael  Pepperday.  'Phone 
me  an  appointment." 

Sighing,  Martin  fell  to  thinking  about  the  Pepperdays. 
He  recalled  the  hour  he  had  helped  carry  the  Pater  to 
his  grave  in  Balmville.  The  remembrance  of  his  scenes 
with  Adelina  sent  hot  waves  over  him  and  surrendered  his 
spirit  to  ignominious  self-opprobrium. 

But  Adelina  was  not  the  only  Pepperday  whose  shadow 
hung  over  him.  Tucked  away  in  his  desk  was  Alf  Car- 
raby's  letter  from  Montana,  saying  that  Patricia  had  left 
the  stock  company  and  disappeared.  At  the  same  time 
Carraby  had  expressed  the  suspicion  that  her  departure 
was  connected  with  an  unknown  author  who,  so  everybody 
said,  wanted  to  marry  her. 

Hourly  Martin  had  been  hoping  for  some  word  from 
Lady  Pat,  and  his  present  anxiety  about  her  only  sharp- 
ened his  other  worries. 

Meantime  William  Foster  was  hurrying  to  obey 
Brewer's  summons  to  call  at  his  office.  He  had  looked 
forward  to  this  hour  with  avidity.  Brewer  would  be  as 
swift  to  give  him  the  part  he  desired  as  he  had  been  in 
keeping  him  supplied  with  cash. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     171 

He  felt  sure  the  playwright  would  checkmate  any  pro- 
ceedings Michael  Pepperday's  officious  friends  might 
start.  Of  course,  it  was  rough  on  Mike,  but  what  hap- 
pened to  that  sap-headed  fool,  as  Foster  considered  the 
imprisoned  youth,  did  not  worry  him  at  all.  Any  man 
who  would  let  Milly  pull  the  wool  over  his  eyes  deserved 
all  he  got.  Metaphorically  speaking,  the  actor  had 
hugged  himself  into  a  state  of  warmth  and  contentment. 
He  had  completely  forgiven  Brewer  for  overlooking  his 
appeals  for  personal  interviews  of  late  and  with  smiling 
satisfaction  looked  forward  to  a  brilliant  future. 

As  he  guided  his  smart  runabout  to  the  curb  in  front 
of  the  Candler  Building,  his  mind's  eye  held  a  picture  of 
wealth  and  fame  with  none  of  the  grind  and  poverty  that 
generally  impeded  the  rise  of  the  artist. 

He  was  overcome  with  self-importance  and  gratified 
pride  when  he  tripped  into  Brewer's  office. 

"I'm  delighted  to  see  you  again,  Martin,"  he  exclaimed 
with  an  outflung  hand.  "You  can't  imagine  how  I've 
missed  our  chummy  talks.  But  I  realize  that  you  were 
too  busy  to  let  me  come  oftener." 

"Sit  down,"  came  from  the  scarcely  perceptible  slit  that 
was  Brewer's  mouth.  "What  do  you  know  about  the 
Pepperday  matter,  Bill?" 

The  actor  shifted  uncomfortably  to  a  chair. 

"Well,  there's  a  movement  afoot  for  a  new  trial,  so  I 
thought  I  ought  to  let  you  know  as  soon  as  I  found  it  out 
myself,"  he  replied. 

"Where'd  you  get  that  bit  of  information?" 

"Oh,  from  somebody  who  knows." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  somebody?  Now,  look  here, 
Bill,  when  you  do  business  with  me,  it's  got  to  be  open 
and  aboveboard.  I  wouldn't  talk  in  riddles  with  the  devil 
himself.  Out  with  the  whole  affair  or  nothing,  and  don't 
come  here  with  mere  gossip." 


172     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Fancy  Cavendish  told  me,"  admitted  Foster  after 
a  spell. 

"What?  Are  you  fool  enough  to  bring  her  stories 
here?" 

Incredulity  grew  in  Foster's  narrow  breast.  Brewer 
acted  as  if  he  were  not  in  the  least  intimidated.  If  that 
were  so,  why  had  he  sent  him  all  that  money?  He  re- 
called his  other  interviews.  Certainly  he  had  been  led 
to  believe  that  by  shutting  his  tongue  between  his  teeth, 
he  was  doing  him  a  favor.  He  was,  too ;  he  knew  he  was ! 
Good  Lord,  it  was  a  favor  to  keep  his  crippled  son  out  of 
the  muss!  This  thought  made  him  pour  forth  a  running 
fire: 

"Now,  you  listen  to  what  I'm  going  to  say,  Mr.  Brewer! 
You  needn't  put  on  airs  with  me!  I'm  here  to  help  you, 
but  I  can  tip  over  your  apple  cart  if  I  take  the  notion. 
So  just  remember  that!"  Very  pale,  he  arose  to  his  feet. 
"When  you  get  ready  to  treat  me  like  a  friend,  I'll  come 
back  and  talk  to  you.  Till  you  can  hold  your  temper,  I 
won't  show  up,  but  I  might  as  well  tell  you  some  of  the 
things  I  haven't  put  in  my  letters.  I  want  more  money, 
of  course,  certainly!  I — I  also  want  to  play  Michael 
Pepperday's  part  of  'David'  in  'The  Streams  Make 
Glad!'" 

As  if  a  bee  had  stung  him,  Brewer  sprang  from  his 
chair.  Then  he  leaned  against  the  table  and  laughed  until 
the  tears  ran  down  his  checks. 

"Gosh — how — funny,"  he  stuttered  when  he  was  able 
to  articulate.  "Thanks— for  that— good  laugh,  Bill!" 

"You'll  laugh  out  of  the  other  side  of  your  mouth," 
gritted  Foster,  forgetting  himself  in  righteous  wrath.  "I'm 
done  fooling  with  you.  In  every  one  of  my  notes  I've 
begged  you  to  see  me,  but  I  didn't  thrust  myself  upon  you 
as  I  might  have  done.  I  came  this  time,  willing  to  meet 
you  more  than  halfway.  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  your- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     173 

self,  now,  Mr.  Martin  Brewer?  I  repeat  what  I  said. 
I  want  to  play  that  part  of  'David'  with  Paddy  Pepper- 
day  as  'Truth'  and  Barney  in  his  role:  .  .  .  I'm  in  love 
with  Patricia!" 

"What?"  cried  Brewer.  "What  in  thunder  did  you 
say?" 

He  stood  perfectly  still  as  Foster  repeated,  word  for 
word,  what  he  had  said  with  a  few  additions. 

"That  puts  a  new  complexion  on  the  matter,"  com- 
mented Martin  gravely.  "I  say,  Bill,  come  along  into 
my  directors'  room,  and  we'll  swap  a  few  confidences." 

His  chest  swelling  with  a  sudden  breath  of  relief,  Foster 
jumped  at  the  suggestion. 

"Fine!"  he  said.  "I'm  glad  you've  come  to  see  it  my 
way  after  all." 

As  Foster  went  first  across  the  threshold  of  Martin 
Brewer's  directors'  room,  he  took  a  quick  glance  about. 
A  large  table,  around  which  were  some  ten  or  twelve 
chairs,  occupied  the  spacious  center.  A  baby  grand 
piano,  ready  for  use,  was  in  the  corner.  In  that  instant 
he  saw  himself  standing  before  it,  practicing  the  powerful 
role  of  "David"  in  "The  Streams  Make  Glad!  " 

Brewer's  invitation  to  take  a  chair  and  make  himself 
"comfy"  gave  him  further  assurance.  There  was  nothing 
like  carrying  a  project  through  high-handedly,  especially 
with  a  haughty  duck  like  the  man  before  him.  He  could 
now  specify  his  claims,  and  Martin  would  jump  to  grant 
them. 

Never  before  had  William  been  imbued  with  such  over- 
powering self-esteem.  Humph!  He  knew  the  calibre  of 
Martin  Brewer  as  if  he  had  mixed  up  God's  clay  and  made 
him.  Big  as  he  was,  yes,  rich  as  he  was,  Brewer  was  a 
"fraidy  cat!" 

"Barney  Pepperday  is  back  at  Cavendish's,"  he  an- 
nounced, taking  a  glimpse  at  his  green  silk  hose  to  make 


i74    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

certain  there  were  no  wrinkles  in  them.  "Did  you  know 
that?" 

"No!"  answered  Brewer,  standing,  his  hands  thrust 
into  his  pockets. 

It  placed  a  fellow  at  a  disadvantage  to  have  a  man 
tower  over  him  like  that,  and  Billy  wished  he  would  sit 
down. 

"Yes,  he  came  in  night  before  last,"  he  explained. 
"Through  some  means  he's  got  hold  of  a  big  sum  of 
money.  At  first  I  couldn't  see  why  in  hell  he  wanted  to 
come  to  a  place  like  Cavendish's,  especially  after  all  that's 
happened.  Of  course,  I've  got  my  own  reasons  for  stay- 
ing there,  but  Barney's  different.  I  was  sure  he  had 
something  up  his  sleeve — and  he  has!  He's  diggin'  for 
new  evidence! 

"Fancy  came  to  my  room  last  night,  and  she  told  me 
that  there'd  been  a  man  in  Pepperday's  room  with  him 
for  over  an  hour.  I  bribed  her  to  go  back  and  keep  an 
eye  and  ear  out,  and  she  did.  She  says  the  man  was  a 
lawyer.  She  heard  Barney  offer  him  a  thousand  dollars. 
I  tried  to  quiz  Barn  myself,  but  he's  some  cagey  guy,  be- 
lieve me.  Beside  that,  Alexander  Clark  says  that  Pat 
O'Kelleron  wrote  his  mother  that  he  feared  he'd  made  a 
mistake  in  rushing  Mike's  trial  so  fast.  When  he  comes 
home,  he's  going  to  look  into  it. — Martin,  I  say  it's  gettin' 
pretty  hot — for  Benny.  But  I  guess,  as  long  as  only  you 
and  I  know  the  kid  was  in  the  house,  you  needn't  worry. 

"All  I  ask  you  to  do  is  give  to  me  outright — The 
Streams  Make  Glad,'  and — " 

"Outright!"  interjected  Martin.  "Why,  it's  worth  a 
mint,  and  I've  already  given  you  more  money  than  you 
ever  saw  before." 

"I  know  it,  but  isn't  Benny's  liberty,  perhaps  his  life, 
worth  a  fortune.  I  counted  it  that  way  and  thought, 
maybe,  you  would,  too. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     175 

"I've  always  been  ambitious,"  he  stumbled  on, 
"and  I  got  to  thinking  what  a  success  the  Pepperday  kids 
made  in  'The  Streams'  and  what  a  good  actor  I  am  my- 
self! Friends  of  mine  say  I  can  sing  prettier  than 
Michael  Pepperday — " 

As  Brewer  winced,  he  paused,  but,  Billy's  mode  of 
fighting  being  to  hit  a  man  when  he  was  down,  he  pro- 
ceeded, "I  can  knock  the  spots  off  Mike's  acting  any  day, 
and  I  didn't  know  how  much  I  cared  for  Patricia  until 
after  she  went  west.  You  have  a  big  pull  with  her,  so  I 
figured  out  that  if  you  recalled  her — " 

"I  gather  from  what  you  say,  Foster,"  interposed 
Brewer  quite  calmly,  "that  you  want  to  marry  Miss  Pep- 
perday." 

"Want  to  marry  her?"  echoed  Billy,  rolling  up  his  eyes. 
"Well,  I  can  say  'Yes! '  to  that  with  all  my  might.  More'n 
that  I  intend  to  marry  her!  Say,  she's  the  kind  of  a  girl 
that  looks  clean  through  a  fella  and  doesn't  see  him  at  all. 
But,  after  we're  married,  I'll  take  that  high-cockalorum 
air  out  of  'er,  you  can  bet  your  last  dollar  on  that. 

"Mart,  you've  had  enough  experience  with  women  to 
know  that  a  firm  hand,  and  even  a  gadding  once  in  a  while, 
makes  'em  understand  the  superiority  of  men.  I  know  a 
vaudeville  guy  who  drubs  his  wife  every  Sunday,  whether 
she  needs  it  or  not.  It  keeps  her  straight  all  week.  For  a 
while  I'll  try  that  on  Paddy  Pepperday,  just  to  show  her 
who's  boss.  She'll  eat  out  of  my  hands  before  I'm  done 
with  'er.  But,  of  course,  I  couldn't  get  her  without  you. 
She's  the  one  big  thing  I  want  thrown  in  for — for  my 
keepin'  quiet  about  Benny." 

To  prevent  himself  from  springing  at  the  speaker, 
Brewer  spread  his  feet  wide  apart.  He  was  holding  him- 
self in  by  main  force.  He  did  not  wish  to  commit  an  out- 
right murder,  and,  if  he  struck  Foster  now,  he  would 
surely  kill  him. 


176    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

His  own  machinations  with  this  scum  of  the  stage  had 
made  possible  this  incomparable  harangue.  His  mind 
swept  to  Montana,  carried  on  a  whirlwind  of  rage  and 
shame.  But  the  picture  of  a  pretty  child,  the  girl  who 
had  portrayed  his  "Truth"  with  the  tenderness  and 
verity  of  an  angel,  softened  the  tense  muscles  in  his  throat. 
The  word  "Patricia"  fell  upon  his  ears,  and  he  stirred. 

"Isn't  that  so?"  queried  the  actor. 

"I  didn't  hear  what  you  said,  Bill,"  rejoined  Brewer, 
"and  you  needn't  trouble  to  repeat  it.  I  was  just  wonder- 
ing if  I  hadn't  better  lock  the  door.  Yes,  I  think  so." 

He  walked  forward  and  turned  the  key. 

"I  did  that,  William,  so  that  Scott  couldn't  run  in  if  he 
happened  to  want  me,"  he  observed  in  explanation.  "We 
can't  be  bothered  by  trifles  for  a  while." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     177 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

WITH  furtive  alertness  William  Foster  watched  the 
manager  as  he  turned  and  walked  to  the  table,  where  he 
halted  for  no  apparent  reason.  Foster  wished  he  would 
make  haste  and  draw  up  the  contract.  Until  that  was 
signed  and  sealed,  he  would  be  in  more  or  less  of  a  fret. 

At  the  thought  that  he  had  cornered  so  powerful  a 
man,  Billy's  small  soul  grew  gleeful.  But  why  did  Brewer 
stand  there  like  a  stone  image,  his  great  head  thrown 
back  and  his  face  as  white  as  tallow?  There  was  an 
expression,  too,  in  his  blue  eyes,  centered  on  space,  that 
twinged  the  watcher  with  unrest. 

During  those  few  retrospective  moments,  Martin  had 
traveled  back  to  Benny's  babyhood.  There  he  had 
turned  sharply  and  retraced  his  steps  through  the  slow 
and  weary  years  since  the  lad  had  become  his  fondest 
care. 

Then,  as  a  hacking  cough  came  from  the  actor,  he 
walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  back  again.  Of  a 
sudden  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the  model  of  the  stage 
set  of  "The  Streams  Make  Glad,"  reposing  on  a  shelf. 
Seemingly  unconscious  of  his  companion's  impatience,  he 
approached  it  softly,  reverently,  though  with  an  inward 
agony,  like  that  of  a  priest  before  his  sacrificial  altar. 

Simultaneously  William  Foster's  harpy-like  demands 
faded  from  his  mind;  Forty-second  Street  took  itself 
off;  all  its  confusion  and  hubbub  died  out  of  his  ears, 
for  Martin  Brewer  had  begun  his  wrestle  with  God. 
There,  before  the  miniature  Judean  mountain  with  its 
Punch  and.  Judy  figures  and  its  scraps  of  wool  for  sheep, 
the  scales  of  doubt  fell  from  his  shrunken  manhood. 


1 78    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

His  "old  man  of  the  sea"  slowly  resumed  his  innocuous 
form. 

Then,  through  the  quietude  of  Martin's  material  self, 
spiritual  activity  thundered  its  gospel  of  God-given 
pledges.  For  the  first  time  since  two  weeks  after  Labor 
Day  the  everlasting  truth  was  borne  in  upon  him.  Oh, 
eternal  pledges  of  omniscent  Love!  Hope  stirred  in  its 
long,  leaden  sleep  and  was  suddenly  erect  in  radiant  splen- 
dor. He  grasped  the  actuality  of  personal  responsibility 
and  individual  independence  expressed  in  the  law,  "work 
out  your  own  salvation  —  for  it  is  God  that  worketh  with 
you — " 

Then  Benny's  future  slipped  from  his  bleeding  heart. 
His  great  shoulders  lifted,  and  he  sighed.  He  was  free! 
Unfettered!  Emancipated!  Hallowed  became  the  spot 
where  he  stood;  enshrined  the  cardboard  stage  out  of 
which  his  faith  in  abiding  peace  had  been  given  back  to 
him. 

A  sound  startled  him  from  his  reverie.  What  was  it? 
Ah,  William  Foster  was  humming  audibly,  "There  is  a 
River,  the  Streams  whereof  shall  make  Glad  the  City  of 
God." 

"Know  what  that  is,  Bill?"  he  asked  with  a  backward 
thrust  of  his  thumb  at  the  model. 

Flushing  a  rosy  red,  William  slapped  his  brow  with 
widespread  fingers. 

"Betcha,"  he  grinned.  "Great  idea!  That  — is  The 
Streams.'  But  what's  the  thing  in  the  corner,  a  shep- 
herd's crook,  eh?" 

"Yes!  Sort  of  a  one,"  ruminated  Martin,  picking  up 
a  rattan  stick.  "I  bought  it  merely  for  the  shape,  to 
have  one  enlarged  from  it  for  Mike.  Why,  this,"  and  he 
bent  it  double,  "isn't  big  enough  even  for  you." 

With  that  he  threw  the  crook  on  the  table.  Leisurely 
he  advanced  until  he  was  within  a  few  feet  of  his  com- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     179 

panion,  the  expression  on  his  face  indicating  that  he  was 
weighing  a  matter  of  extreme  importance.  Then  a  frosty 
smile  expanded  his  lips,  revealing  two  sets  of  unbroken, 
white  teeth. 

"Bill,"  he  said  impressively,  "you  say  you  came  to 
do  me  a  favor.  Well,  now  I'm  going  to  do  you  one." 

"You'll  never  be  sorry  if  you  help  me,"  Foster  con- 
curred, bobbing  up  with  a  low  bow. 

"I  guess  that's  right,"  concluded  Brewer  thoughtfully. 
"When  I  once  make  my  mind  to  do  a  thing,  I'm  rarely 
sorry.  Just  crawl  up  on  that  table,  Willy!" 

"What  for,  for  God's  sake?"  gasped  Foster,  flinching; 
"and  look  here,  I  don't  want  you  to  call  me  'Willy,'  see?" 

"All  right,  all  right,  just  as  you  like,"  returned  Brewer, 
flourishing  a  long  arm.  "It's  immaterial  what  your  name 
is  when  you're  acting  a  part.  I'm  going  to  give  you  the 
leading  role  in  a  dance  of  the  fairies.  Hop  up,  Lizzie 
dear,  hop  up!" 

"But  I'm  through  with  dancing,"  objected  Foster,  hec- 
tic in  color.  "I  —  I  told  you  that,  and  —  and  you  can 
quit  calling  me  names,  too." 

"Hop  up!"  interrupted  Brewer  fiercely.  "Up  on  that 
table,  and  face  down,  toadling!" 

The  space  between  them  he  covered  with  one  step,  a 
terrific,  threatening  figure. 

Shrinking  back,  Foster  stammered: 

"Get  away  —  from  me  —  you  —  you !  I'm  —  I'm  — 
afraid!  What's  the  matter,  Brewer?  What's  the  matter 
with  you?" 

Again  that  frozen  smile  spread  Martin's  lips  to  their 
fullest  extent. 

"Quit  lookin'  at  me  that  way,"  shivered  Foster.  "I  tell 
you  I'm  afraid  of  you!  I  say,  what  do  you  mean  by 
tellin'  me  to  hop  up  on  that  table?  I  —  I  won't!  Don't 
you  dare  touch  me!  If  you  do,  I'll  holler." 


i8o    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

At  that  moment  Martin  was  almost  feline.  He  knew 
he  was  scaring  the  fellow  into  chattering  imbecility;  but 
now  he  had  started,  he  could  not  stop.  One  of  his  hands 
went  out  as  though  he  were  feeling  for  an  invisible  ob- 
ject. Then  he  withdrew  it,  only  to  shove  it  forth  again, 
this  time  close  to  the  actor's  face. 

Fingers,  like  talons,  gripping  Foster's  collar,  circum- 
vented his  move  to  dive  under  Martin's  uplifted  arm. 
Poor  little  mite  of  a  man,  struggling  in  the  iron  grip  of 
a  Cyclops!  Then  Brewer  compounded  insult  and  injury 
by  elevating  the  song  bird  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  com- 
pletely off  his  feet  and  suspending  him  there  as  a  cat 
would  a  rat. 

"Willy,"  he  boomed  into  the  other's  white,  working 
face,  "you're  an  abomination  unto  the  earth.  Now,  I'm 
going  to  wallop  the  fear  of  God  into  you  if  I  don't  do 
another  blessed  thing  on  His  footstool.  If  you  were  a 
man,  I'd  knock  you  down  and  do  a  few  other  things  to 
you  that  go  with  a  fine  fight,  but — " 

On  the  brusque,  explanatory  "But"  he  stopped,  and 
with  one  jerk  whirled  the  dizzy  actor  aloft  and  landed 
him,  spine  up,  on  the  table.  Then,  oh,  kindly  God  in  a 
kindly  heaven,  help!  blubbered  from  Foster's  racked  soul. 
What  was.  that?  An  object  as  cold  as  an  icicle  was  trav- 
eling over  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"Smell  that!"  shot  from  Brewer.  "It's  a  nice  little 
shepherd's  crook,  made  purposely  to  switch  a  naughty  bad 
boy  with,  Willy.  The  Bible  says,  'Spare  the  rod  and 
spoil  the  child!'  Now  kick,  little  man,  kick." 

As  the  limber  stick  struck  him  across  his  back,  "kick" 
was  not  the  word  to  express  the  spraddles  of  William 
Foster.  He  squealed,  not  only  with  physical  pain,  but 
because  his  dignity — his  high  pride — was  hurt  beyond 
description.  He  could  not  endure  the  outrage  another 
second.  But  the  muscles  he  had  displayed  at  times  with 


boasting  were  as  soft  as  butter  when  he  endeavored  to 
wriggle  from  under  the  hand  that  held  him  down. 

"Ah,  you're  magnificent,  sweet  boy!"  exclaimed 
Brewer.  "You're  making  the  hit  of  your  life!  You've 
never  done  half  so  well  before  the  footlights." 

Another  stinging  blow  from  the  flexible  stick  brought 
forth  a  series  of  yaps  from  Foster. 

"Ah,  does  it  hurt  as  bad  as  all  that,  darlin',"  mocked 
Martin.  "What  a  shame!  It  hurts  me  a  thousand  times 
worse  than  it  does  you,  Willy  child ! " 

"I'll  have  you  arrested,"  shrilled  Foster.  "I'll  have 
you  jailed,  you  damned  big  brute.  Let  me  go,  I  tell 
you." 

Never  had  his  falsetto  tones  taken  their  entire  scope 
so  thoroughly  since  he  had  discovered  he  possessed  a  voice. 
He  blasphemed  on  the  low  notes,  he  screamed  in  the 
middle  range,  and  he  begged  in  childish  treble. 

Of  a  sudden  Brewer  paused  with  suspended  arm.  He 
scowled  down  at  Foster  who  was  sobbing  limply. 

"Lemme  go,  lemme  go,  sir,"  he  implored,  his  hands 
in  an  attitude  of  prayer.  "Oh,  Mr.  Brewer,  how  could 
you  do  such  a  thing,  when  I'm  so  anxious  to  save  your 
son — so  anxious  to  play  The  Streams  Make  Glad.'  " 

"Ha,  ha,  the  little  gnat  hasn't  learned  his  lesson  yet, 
I  see,"  cried  Brewer.  "I  hoped  he  had!  But  a  job  like 
this,  if  it's  worth  doing  at  all,  is  worth  doing  well." 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,"  he  counted  as  the  weapon 
descended.  "How  do  you  like  what  you  said  you'd  give 
Paddy  Pepperday,  my  weasel?  Every  Sunday,  whether 
she  needed  it  or  not,  to  keep  her  straight  through  the 
week — eh?  One,  two,  three,  for  your  even  daring  to 
mention  The  Streams  Make  Glad!' — Immortal  Muse! 
The  pup  would  crucify  the  'City  of  God ! '  Here's  a  couple 
of  dandy  whacks  to  ease  thy  weeping  heart,  oh,  guardian 
angel  of  vocal  harmony!" 


1 82     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

He  paused  and  grinned  into  Foster's  tear-wet  face. 

"Oh,  tweedle  dee  and  tweedle  dum,  some  spanking  for 
a  bad,  bad  son,"  he  chanted  in  rhyme.  "Now,  two  more 
for  good  measure!  Good  measure  pressed  down  and 
running  over!  There!  The  dance  is  finished!" 

Then  Foster  was  so  violently  wrenched  from  the  table 
and  flung  into  a  chair  that  he  saw  stars. 

"Now,  I'll  hear  what  you're  going  to  do,  Bill,"  said 
Martin  coolly,  his  temper  gone. 

Tears  were  pouring  down  Billy's  cheeks. 

"I  want  to  hear  what  you're  going  to  do  first,"  he 
sniveled  in  muffled  tones.  "What  I  do  depends  on  what 
you  do." 

Again  Brewer  lost  his  equanimity  and  became  a  menac- 
ing bulk  of  blazing  flesh. 

"The  first  thing  I'm  going  to  do  is  to  kick  you  out  of 
my  office,"  he  asserted,  "and  I'll  add  that  Michael  Pepper- 
day  shall  have  a  new  trial!  I'll  get  in  touch  with 
O'Kelleron  and  help  him  open  the  case.  Put  that  in 
your  pipe  and  smoke  it. — Now,  you  get  out  of  here,  you 
tango  lizard,  and  don't  come  around  me  again.  If  you 
do,  I  won't  bother  to  slap  you.  I'll — I'll  sling  you  out 
of  the  window, — body,  bones  and  breeches, — by  God ! " 

He  unlocked  the  door  but  did  not  open  it. 

"Now,  Willy,  I  want  to  know  something  else."  He 
spoke  more  civilly.  "When're  you  going  down  to  the 
District  Attorney?" 

No  reply  came  from  the  actor,  but  hate  flamed  into 
and  darkened  his  eyes. 

"Ah,  I  see  you  leave  here  for  there,"  divined  Brewer 
swiftly.  "Well,  I'll  go  along,  too,  and  I'll  take  down 
with  us  a  bunch  of  your  blackmailing  letters.  One  of 
'em  will  put  you  behind  the  bars  for  several  years,  and  I'll 
see  you  get  yours." 

Then   Foster   tasted   the   bitterness   of   defeat.     He 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     183 

had  lost,  playing  his  own  game.  He  was  done  for  before 
he  had  begun  his  world-famed  career!  He  was  on  his 
knees  to  the  man  he  had  been  positive  he  held  under  his 
thumb. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brewer,"  he  wailed,  "I  wouldn't  treat  you 
that  way.  I — I — I  wouldn't  go  to  the  District  Attorney's 
office  for  a  hundred  million  dollars." 

"Vamoose,"  growled  Brewer,  "and  do  anything  you 
damn  well  like!" 

Foster  fled,  and,  as  he  crawled  painfully  into  his  car,  he 
had  the  full  realization  that  life  was  disrupted  of  every- 
thing worth  while. 


1 84    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ONE  fixed  idea  raced  around  in  Fancy  Cavendish's 
mind:  George  was  going  to  die  before  night.  Her  thin 
arms  trembled  so  she  could  scarcely  don  her  hat  and  coat. 
Wrapped  in  an  old  woolen  cape,  the  parrot  was  squatted 
on  a  chair.  His  mistress  was  going  to  take  him  out  of 
doors,  and  it  was  rainy  and  cold ;  so  she  had  left  no  part 
of  his  body  exposed  save  his  glistening  eyes  and  beak. 
When  she  had  arrayed  herself  against  the  weather,  she 
slipped  the  bird  under  her  arm  and  climbed  the  base- 
ment steps  to  the  street. 

Once  some  one  had  told  her  that  her  father  had  died, 
and  she  had  never  seen  him  again.  To-night  she  would 
not  have  George.  She  would  be  alone  in  the  small,  dark 
chamber  where,  ever  since  she  could  remember,  he  had 
kept  her  company.  She  was  dumb  with  grief  as  the 
realization  pressed  upon  on  her  that  the  destruction  of  her 
beloved  was  at  hand.  She  had  but  a  short  time  to  teach 
him  all  he  must  know  before  he  went  away  to  heaven. 

Her  face  was  smeared  with  tears  when  she  slipped  into 
a  cold,  damp  court  on  Forty-seventh  Street  and  squeezed 
herself  in  between  two  empty  ash  cans.  Then,  after 
caressing  the  parrot,  she  put  him  in  her  lap.  He  opened 
one  eye  and  peered  up  at  her. 

"Hello,  Fan,"  he  singsonged. 

"Hello,  George,"  she  droned,  wiping  her  face  on  her 
sleeve. 

"Nice  day,"  said  George. 

"Nice  day,"  she  repeated. 

Then  the  bird  fell  asleep,  and  Fancy  made  an  effort 
to  straighten  out  in  her  mind  just  what  had  happened. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     185 

Now,  who  was  it  that  had  said  George  had  to  die?  She 
could  not  remember,  and  the  harder  she  struggled  to 
piece  the  broken  threads,  the  more  disordered  became 
her  brain.  Rocking  back  and  forth,  she  wept  and  moaned. 

At  length  she  bent  foward  and  with  trembling  lips 
touched  the  ragged  feathers  that  topknotted  the  parrot's 
pate. 

"George,"  she  breathed. 

"Is  breakfast  ready,  Fan?"  asked  the  bird. 

This  remark  was  the  cause  of  a  low  lament  from  Fancy. 
He  would  not  eat  any  breakfast  to-morrow.  She  would 
never  have  to  steal  from  under  her  mother's  nose  the  tid- 
bits for  which  he  famished,  and  which  she  fed  him  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  room. 

"Kiss  me,  George,"  she  mumbled,  sobbing. 

Obediently  he  pecked  at  her  under  lip. 

"Now,  listen  to  Fan,  dear,"  she  whimpered.  "I'd  like 
to  help  you  if  I  could,  but  I  can't.  Before  dark  you'll 
be  flyin'  away  up  in  the  sky."  Her  voice  cracked  and 
ceased.  After  a  while,  "But  God'll  make  it  easy  for  my 
little  man,"  she  murmured.  "I've  been  askin'  Him  all  the 
way  over.  You  got  a  soul,  George,  bigger'n  most  folks, 
and  the  minute  your  neck's  twisted,  Jesus'll  grab  you  right 
up  to  heaven!  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you,  darlin'." 

"Aw,  Fan,"  muttered  the  parrot,  disturbed  at  her  tears. 

"Ma  don't  like  us  much,"  she  trailed  on.  "Nobody 
likes  us  awful  well  but  Paddy  Pepperday,  and  she  ain't 
here.  Oh,  how  I  wish  she  was!  How  I  wish  she  was, 
George!" 

"George's  a  damn  pretty  bird,"  soliloquized  the  parrot. 

She  squeezed  him  against  her  tremulous  bosom. 

"You're  more'n  pretty,"  she  sighed.  "Why,  my  golly, 
there's  another  parrot  on  the  block,  but  he  can't  hold  a 
candle  to  you.  Be  a  good  boy,  and  say  your  prayers  once 
for  your  little  mama." 


1 86    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  squeaked  George,  and  he  com- 
posed himself  for  another  nap. 

Among  the  tasks  for  Fancy  to  learn,  Patricia  Pepper- 
day  had  listed  the  childish  prayer,  "Now  I  lay  me  down 
to  sleep,"  and  that  much  of  the  petition  George  knew  by 
heart  from  his  small  owner's  diligent  quoting. 

"Say  it  again,  'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,'  honey," 
she  quivered.  "I  wish  you'd  learn  the  part  about  your 
soul,  too.  Sometimes  you're  so  rotten  mean  that  you 
won't  do  a  thing  I  ask  you. — Miss  Paddy  says  Jesus  loves 
little  birdies'  souls,  George." 

Then  the  child-woman,  warped  in  all  natural  instincts 
but  that  of  mother  love  which  had  spent  its  warmth  for 
years  on  the  bird,  snatched  him  to  her  breast  in  passionate 
entreaty. 

"Oh,  God,  let  Fan  keep  George,"  she  begged  tensely. 
"Anyway,  let  me  keep  'im  till  to-morrow. — George,  if  you 
don't  say,  'I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep,'  I'll  paste 
you  a  biff  on  the  jaw.  Say  it!  Say  it!  The  cat  ain't 
got  your  tongue,  has  he?  Open  your  mouth,  and  I'll  see." 

As  if  he  understood  perfectly  the  order  given  him, 
George  opened  his  beak. 

"Gold  pencil  for  Fatty,"  he  squawked,  struggling  to 
release  himself  from  her  light  embrace. 

A  long  shiver  ran  the  length  of  Fancy's  body.  The 
parrot's  jabbering  about  Michael  Pepperday's  pencil 
meant  death  for  him.  It  never  once  occurred  to  her  that 
it  had  taken  her  days  to  teach  him  those  words. 

Suddenly  she  tucked  him  under  her  arm,  scrambled  up 
and  scuttled  out  of  the  court.  No  matter  if  the  wind 
were  cold,  she  did  not  intend  to  go  home  just  now.  George 
was  warm,  and  that  was  enough. 

She  maundered  along  Forty-seventh  Street  with  no 
definite  thought  of  where  she  would  spend  the  rest  of 
the  day. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     187 

Turning  south  on  Fifth  Avenue,  she  walked  slowly 
along,  glancing  now  and  then  at  the  shop  windows.  She 
harbored  no  envy  for  any  one  of  the  brilliant  gewgaws 
displayed  there.  Patricia  Pepperday  supplied  her  with 
everything  she  needed. 

A  voice,  sounding  her  name,  set  her  heart  to  beating. 
In  dread,  she  turned  completely  around. 

An  automobile  had  drawn  close  to  the  curb,  and  she 
heard  her  name  again  pronounced  distinctly  as  she  stared 
at  the  young  man  who  was  leaning  out  of  the  car  door. 

"Hello,  Fancy!"  called  Benny  Brewer,  smiling  at  her. 
"Come  on,  and  have  a  ride." 

Not  recognizing  him  at  first,  she  hesitated.  Then,  re- 
lieved, she  placed  the  pale,  thin  face  as  belonging  to  the 
boy  who  had  come  a  few  times  to  see  the  Pepperdays, 
and  who  once  had  given  her  five  dollars.  Undecided, 
however,  she  stood  her  ground  but  sent  him  a  wan  smile. 

"Come  on,"  he  insisted,  beckoning  with  his  finger. 
"It's  good  and  warm  in  here." 

Never  had  she  ridden  in  an  automobile,  and  she  was 
cold,  too,  so  when  he  repeated  the  invitation,  she  sidled 
across  the  flags  and  slid  into  the  tonneau  beside  him. 
x    "Not  a  very  nice  day  for  a  walk,  Fancy,"  he  remarked. 
"But  I  thought,  perhaps,  you'd  like  a  ride." 

"So  I  would,  and  George  would  like  it,  too,  sir,"  she 
answered,  her  face  flaming  in  excitement. 

She  unpinned  the  cape,  unwrapped  the  bird,  and  he 
clawed  his  way  up  her  sleeve  to  her  shoulder. 

"Pretty  Poll,  pretty  Poll,"  he  harped,  as  the  car  shot 
up  Fifth  Avenue.  "Gold  pencil!  Lay  me  down  to 
sleep,  ma!" 

Lifting  her  hand,  Fancy  placed  it  over  his  face. 

"George's  a  bad  boy  to-day,"  she  excused,  "but  it  don't 
do  no  good  to  swat  'im.  I'd  beat  'im  black  and  blue  if 
it  did." 


188    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"What  did  he  mean  when  he  said  that?"  asked  Benny 
curiously.  "I  never  heard  a  parrot  talk  so  plainly  before. 
I  say,  Fancy,  what  did  he  mean?" 

"Nothing  much,  just  a  lot  of  rot,"  she  apologized.  "I 
guess  he  was  sayin'  his  prayers  for  one  thing.  Where 
we  going  to,  mister?" 

"Oh,  we'll  take  a  little  drive  through  the  Park,  and 
then  we'll  go  up  to  my  house.  I'll  play  on  my  organ  for 
you.  Do  you  like  music?" 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him. 

"Lordy,  I  should  think  I  did,  and  George  loves  it 
better'n  most  anything  but  cake.  He  gets  all  pin- 
feathery  when  we  play  the  phonygraph.  Ma  says  it  gives 
'im  the  pip,  like  it  does  her." 

Then  they  were  silent,  except  for  the  parrot's  jargon, 
as  the  car  took  its  way  along  the  wet,  winding  roads  of 
Central  Park. 

Benny's  idea  in  giving  Fancy  Cavendish  an  outing 
was  not  all  philanthropic.  He  wanted  to  talk  about 
Patricia  Pepperday.  Several  times  he  asked  her  questions 
to  keep  up  the  conversation,  but  she  remained  despond- 
ently huddled  in  the  corner,  watching  the  trees  fly  past. 

Later,  when  she  sat  in  Benny's  studio,  listening  to  his 
music,  she  forgot  that  death  stalked  on  Forty-eighth 
Street,  and  that  there  was  a  lonely  to-morrow  awaiting 
her.  The  soothing  harmony  had  lifted  her  vague  senses 
into  a  blissful  tranquillity.  The  bird,  too,  was  very  quiet. 

"I  bet  you  enjoyed  that,"  Benny  said,  smiling. 

"It  was  more'n  grand,"  she  returned  emphatically. 
"Look  at  George!  Every  one  of  his  feathers  are  standin' 
on  end.  He  liked  it  like  I  did." 

"What  makes  him  act  so  fierce?"  queried  Benny. 

The  rapture,  stamped  in  Fancy's  pale  countenance, 
faded  away,  leaving  her  jaded  in  expression.  Furtively 
she  glanced  around  the  room  and  up  at  the  galleries. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     189 

"I  guess  he's  mad  because  I  told  him  he's  goin'  to  get 
killed,"  she  whispered,  again  eyeing  Benny.  "His  soul 
is  goin'  smack  to  Jesus  before  long.  Somebody  is  goin' 
to  wring  his  neck." 

"Why?"  questioned  Benny  disbelievingly.  "Who's 
going  to  do  it?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  anything  about  that,"  she  stated, 
touching  her  lips  with  her  fingers.  "But  I  wish — George 
didn't — have  to — go  to — heaven — just  yet!"  She  uttered 
weak  little  sobs,  her  head  sinking  into  the  crook  of  her 
elbow.  "Oh,  I  don't  know  how  I'll  live  without  him," 
she  cried  out  to  the  amazed  Benny. 

"Goodness  me — land,  don't  do  that!"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  say,  Fancy,  you  make  me  feel  badly!  How  would 
you  like  some  cake  and  tea?  I'll  send  down  for  any- 
thing you  like." 

She  raised  her  face,  streaked  and  wet,  and  then  she 
contemplated  him  for  a  while  as  though  she  would  assure 
herself  that  he  had  spoken  the  truth. 

"George  loves  cake,  sir,"  she  announced,  a  smile  flit- 
ting across  her  lips,  "and,  mebbe,  if  you  give  'im  some 
now,  it'll  be  the  last  he'll  get.  Ma's  as  stingy  as  the 
devil  when  it  comes  to  sweeties."  She  bent  forward. 
"You  remember  that  five  dollars  you  gave  me  one  night?" 

Ah,  did  he  remember?     He  merely  nodded. 

"I  spent  every  cent  on  George,"  she  declared  with  a 
wise  wag  of  her  head.  "Ma  never  knew  I  had  it." 

"Then  I'll  have  some  cake  sent  up,"  he  promised, 
and  he  went  to  a  speaking  tube  into  which  he  spoke  words 
which  were  unintelligible  to  the  thrilled  Fancy. 

"Come  on,  and  tell  me  what's  going  to  happen  to 
your  parrot,"  he  coaxed,  once  more  seating  himself.  "I 
won't  tell  anybody.  I  swear  I  won't." 

"Somebody  hates  'im  awful!"  she  admitted,  embar- 
rassed. "I  hadn't  oughta  said  a  word  about  it,  but — but, 


1 9o    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

mebbe,  he  won't  be  alive  five  minutes  after  I  get  'im  home 
to  ma's,  sir." 

"Then  I'd  be  switched  if  I'd  take  him  back  there!" 
came  in  ejaculation.  "Gee,  some  mystery  about  that 
bird!  Eh— Here's  the  tea. 

"By  Jove,"  he  exclaimed,  laughing  up  at  the  liveried 
butler  who  had  advanced  with  the  tray,  "I  forgot  to  say 
'jam/  but  you  brought  it,  didn't  you,  Todkins?  And 
sandwiches! — Yes,  I'll  call  down  if  there  isn't  enough, 
Toddie!" 

The  servant  stared  at  the  young  stranger,  then  at  the 
parrot,  murmured  a  few  words  and  went  out. 

"You  sit  here,"  invited  Benny  hospitably,  "and  help 
yourself  to  whatever  you  want." 

"I'd  like  George  to  have  my  share,  mister,"  she  gulped, 
dropping  into  the  chair.  "If  there's  anything  he  loves, 
it's  cake  soaked  in  sugared  tea,  and  he'll  never  get  another 
chance  like  this." 

"There's  enough  for  us  all,"  Benny  responded,  sitting 
down,  "and,  if  there  isn't,  we'll  shout  for  more,  like  a 
house  afire.  But  look  here!  If  you're  sure  about  that 
killing  stuff,  why  don't  you  leave  the  bird  with  me?  You 
could  see  him  whenever  you  liked;  I  wouldn't  mind  if 
you  came  every  day.  And  you  needn't  tell  any  one 
where  you  left  him.  That  would  be  better  than  having 
him  die,  wouldn't  it?  Begin  and  eat  now,  while  I  pour 
the  tea." 

Thoughtfully  Fancy  helped  herself  to  a  sandwich,  broke 
it  in  two  and  offered  the  parrot  the  larger  portion. 

"George  hates  being  away  from  me,"  she  explained 
presently,  "and,  when  he's  ugly,  he'll  nip  you  till  the  blood 
runs.  He  picked  three  huncks  off'n  a  man's  hands  just 
to-day.  And  he  bit  ma's  thumb  almost  off  when  she  tried 
to  box  his  ears." 

Chirruping,  Benny  leaned  across  the  table  and  extended 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     191 

his  forefinger.  The  parrot  cocked  his  head  on  one  side 
and  blinked.  Then  in  stately  dignity  he  lifted  his  wings 
and  jumped  to  the  lad's  shoulder. 

"Well,  for  the  love  of  Mike,"  gasped  Fancy,  "wouldn't 
that  rattle  your  grandmother's  slats?  He  never  did 
that  before;  he  hates  strangers." 

"But  he  likes  me;  that's  why  he  came  without  any 
fuss,"  laughed  Benny.  "All  kinds  of  animals  take  to  me 
straight  off.  Here,  Sir  George,  get  down  here  and  eat  a 
bit  of  chocolate.  Well,  will  you  look  at  him  pick  up 
that  spoon  and  see  him  dig  into  the  jam! " 

With  pride  Fancy  gazed  lovingly  upon  her  adored  pet, 
then  back  to  Benny. 

"That's  nothing,"  she  bragged.  "He  can  eat  a  dinner 
all  the  way  from  soup  to  nuts.  Ma  swears  he's  got  a 
tapeworm  or  something  worse.  I  guess  he  knows  you're 
an  awful  nice  man.  Paddy  Pepperday  said  you  were  as 
good  as  gold." 

"Did  she — honest?"  glowed  Benny.  "Tell  me  every- 
thing she  said.  I'll  give  you  five  dollars  if  you  will! " 

Along  toward  dark,  warmed  in  body  and  spirit,  Fancy 
Cavendish  took  her  departure  from  the  Brewer  home, 
leaving  the  parrot  contentedly  asleep  in  Benny's  studio. 
Little  did  she  realize  that  her  earnest,  humble  petition, 
"God,  let  me  keep  Mm,"  sent  up  while  she  crouched  be- 
tween the  ash  cans,  had  won  for  her  darling  the  protective 
care  of  omnipresent  Love. 


i92     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"Ix's  another  nice  day,  isn't  it,  Stephen?"  Patricia 
observed  some  three  weeks  later,  as  she  emerged  from  her 
room  at  breakfast  time.  Her  voice  was  evenly  toned, 
and  Stephen  glanced  up  suddenly  with  the  passionate  hope 
that  she  would  look  at  him. 

Interminable  days  of  blizzard  and  terrific  wind,  howling 
around  the  "Eagle's  Nest,"  and  ten  days  of  brilliant  sun- 
shine had  almost  sent  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason. 
The  passing  of  each  twenty-four  hours  had  left  him  more 
desperate  and  nerve-racked  than  the  preceding  ones.  Not 
to  his  knowledge  had  his  wife  deigned  to  glance  his  way 
in  all  that  time,  nor  had  he  succeeded  in  wheedling  her 
into  a  lengthy  conversation.  Yet,  she  was  infinitely  sweet 
and  tantalizingly  relaxed  whenever  he  spoke  upon  other 
than  personal  topics. 

One  minute  he  would  declare  to  himself  that  he  had 
married  a  crazy  woman;  another  sixty  seconds  animated 
him  with  the  belief  that  she  had  been  stricken  with  a 
lingering  illness,  the  like  of  which  had  never  came  under 
his  eye.  Certainly  his  experiment  in  bringing  her  to  the 
"Eagle's  Nest"  was  turning  out  disastrously.  Daily  she 
was  losing  flesh  and  color. 

There  were,  though,  moments  during  which  she  seemed 
to  be  alive  to  the  things  passing  around  her.  For  in- 
stance, the  morning  post  usually  delivered  her  various 
pieces  of  mail,  and  the  anxious  husband  noted  that  she 
read  the  lengthy  epistles  several  times,  after  which  they 
immediately  found  their  way  into  the  leaping  flames,  only 
to  be  carried  up  the  chimney  in  charred,  broken  frag- 
ments. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     193 

Not  once  had  she  spoken  of  their  contents,  nor  had 
she  condescended  to  acquaint  him  with  the  names  of  her 
correspondents. 

He  was  watching  her  keenly  now  as  she  walked  to  the 
table. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "it  is  a  nice  day,  and  the  postman 
says  the  road  to  Butte  is  in  good  shape." 

"Ah,  I  have  just  one  letter,"  she  said,  picking  up  a 
thick  envelope. 

When  he  saw  her  thin  face  go  pale,  a  stab  of  jealousy 
went  through  him  like  a  knife.  He  was  more  than  in- 
terested in  that  letter.  He  had  inspected  it  on  putting 
it  beside  her  plate.  It  was  postmarked  "Ossining,  N.  Y." 
and  was  addressed  to  "Patricia  Rushmore,  Butte,  Mon- 
tana," in  a  large,  bold  handwriting. 

Twice  before  since  their  marriage  he  had  witnessed  the 
same  scene  over  the  same  kind  of  a  letter, — her  sudden 
rigidity,  her  deathly  pallor  and  the  manner  in  which 
she  snatched  it  up.  Unlike  her  other  mail,  she  had 
not  read  these  letters  until  she  was  alone.  What  had  the 
writer  to  do  with  her  present  condition?  Although  he 
had  desired  to  know  its  contents,  a  desire  which  was  more 
insistent  this  morning  than  either  time  before,  Stephen  had 
not  been  tempted  to  open  it. 

"Did  you  sleep  well?"  she  asked  sweetly,  taking  her 
seat  in  front  of  the  coffee  urn  and  slipping  the  letter, 
address  down,  beside  her  plate. 

"No,  I  can't  say  I  did,"  he  rejoined,  an  impatient  note 
in  his  voice. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  murmured.     That  was  all! 

She  poured  his  coffee,  sugared  and  creamed  it  with  care. 
When  Stephen  took  it  from  her,  he  touched  the  small 
hand  under  the  saucer. 

A  quick  rage  took  root  in  his  heart  when  she  drew  her 
arm  back  as  if  she  had  inadvertently  come  in  contact  with 


194    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

a  snake.  He  wondered  darkly  if  she  would  shrink  in 
such  an  evident  fashion  from  the  man  at  Ossining.  He 
felt  like  flinging  the  question  at  her  but  refrained.  His 
tongue  was  stiff,  his  mouth  dry,  in  spite  of  the  cup  of  hot 
coffee  he  had  swallowed  without  taking  breath. 

As  usual,  when  Patricia  had  finished  her  breakfast,  she 
picked  up  her  mail  and  arose  languidly. 

"Stay  here  a  few  minutes,  Patricia,"  he  said.  "I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

With  the  letter  in  her  hand,  she  dropped  obediently  into 
an  armchair  and  waited  for  him  to  proceed. 

It  was  now  firmly  rooted  in  Stephen's  consciousness 
that  another  man  was  at  the  bottom  of  their  trouble.  She 
was  dying  slowly  by  inches. 

"Child,"  he  exclaimed  swiftly,  "in  spite  of  your  pro- 
testations against  it,  I'm  going  to  send  for  a  doctor.  You 
won't  eat,  and  I  don't  believe  you  sleep  enough.  It's  no 
wonder  you're  getting  thin." 

"But  I'm  not  at  all  sick,  Stephen,"  she  objected. 
"I  really  feel  rested  this  morning.  I  slept  better  last 
night  than  I  have  before  since  I've  been  here." 

"I  wish  I  could  say  the  same,"  he  replied  bitterly. 
"Patricia,  we  can't  go  on  all  winter  like  this.  It's  getting 
on  our  nerves." 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  it  is,  but,  perhaps,  after  a  while,  we'll 
feel  better,"  was  all  she  offered. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  To  my  knowledge  you 
haven't  given  me  a  look  of  any  kind  since  we've  been 
here,"  he  countered,  thankful  that  she  had  not  taken 
flight.  "Do  you  dislike  me  so  much  as  all  that,  dear 
Patricia?" 

"No !  You've  made  a  mistake !  I  have  looked  at  you — 
often,"  she  said.  "Perhaps,  you  didn't  see  me,  but  I  have 
just  the  same." 

"Turn  around  here  now,"  he  said  with  vehemence. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     195 

To  hear  Stephen's  dear  voice  and  see  the  Pater's  blue 
lips  move, — ah,  that  was  a  chance  she  dared  not  risk. 

"I  don't  want  to,"  she  shivered.  "My  head  would  ache 
if  I  did." 

Difficult,  indeed,  it  would  have  been  to  measure  the 
resentment  that  welled  up  in  Claypoole.  It  temporarily 
eclipsed  his  love  and  obscured  his  judgment.  Before  he 
could  speak,  Patricia  choked: 

"May  I  please  go  to  my  room,  Stephen?  I'd  rather 
be  by  myself — if  you  don't  mind." 

"Not  yet,"  he  protested.  "I  haven't  finished  what 
I  wanted  to  say." 

"I  can't  see  that  there  is  anything  for  either  of  us  to 
say,"  she  endeavored  to  answer  quietly.  "Of  course,  I'll 
listen  to  whatever  you  have  in  mind.  I'd  feel  better, 
though,  if — if  I  could  return  you  that  money — that  five 
thousand  dollars." 

His  resolution  not  to  be  other  than  kindly  went  to  pieces 
under  her  assertion.  His  pulses  were  leaping  hotly  with 
jealous  suspicion,  and  she  had  lacerated  his  feelings  until 
he  had  lost  his  sense  of  proportion. 

"Patricia,  don't  ever  dare  to  mention  that  wretched 
affair  to  me  again,"  he  charged  stormily.  "If  you  persist 
in  it,  I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  to  you.  For  some  reason  or 
other,  you  seem  determined  to  offend  me  this  morning." 

Never  had  he  spoken  thus  to  her  before.  His  tones 
were  rough,  and  she  shriveled  into  a  small  heap  as  the 
thought  flashed  through  her  mind  that  Patrick  O'Kelleron 
was  revealing  himself.  She  struggled  to  her  feet,  the 
letter  hanging  loosely  from  her  fingers. 

"Why,  no,  no!  I'm  not!"  she  expostulated,  "and,  of 
course,  I  won't  mention  it  again  if  you  don't  want  me  to. 
Please  forgive  me,  Stephen." 

The  wounds  which  she  had  inflicted  upon  him  were  too 
deep  for  her  small  plea  to  heal. 


ig6    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Forgive  her?"  Yes,  he  told  himself  savagely,  he  would 
forgive  her  when  he  had  read  that  letter.  He  honestly 
believed  he  had  discovered  the  basis  of  their  trouble.  He 
would  drag  the  thing  out  into  the  open,  whatever  it  was, 
and  destroy  it  as  he  would  an  uncovered  nest  of  rattle- 
snakes. 

"Give  me  that  letter,  Patricia,"  he  gritted  between  his 
teeth. 

Her  fingers  closed  spasmodically  about  the  missive. 

"I  couldn't,"  she  refused.  "I  couldn't  do  that!— It's 
mine! — I  don't  ask  to  see  your  letters,  do  I,  Stephen?" 

For  an  instant  he  was  silent. 

"You  certainly  do  not,"  he  retorted,  his  voice  hard. 
"Evidently  nothing  of  mine  concerns  you,  but  I  can't 
say  I  feel  the  same  way.  Who's  the  man  that  writes  you 
from  Ossining?  You've  received  two  letters  from  him 
before  since  we've  been  here. — Give — give  me  that 
letter!" 

The  words,  "My  brother,  Michael,"  flew  to  her  lips, 
but  a  glance  at  him  killed  them  before  they  escaped. 
A  great  pain  shot  through  her  temples.  She  shuddered 
at  the  duality  of  a  living,  erect  body  and  the  fixed,  dull 
stare  of  the  dead.  She  turned  partly  away,  completely 
disorganized. 

"I  think  I've  quite  lost  my  senses,"  she  said  slowly. 

Suddenly  impressed  with  the  belief  that  she  was  acting, 
he  became  beside  himself  with  fury. 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  you  have,"  he  whipped  out.  "At  least 
your  judgment  is  poor.  I've  stood  just  about  all  I'm 
going  to.  Give  me  that  letter.  I  will  see  it." 

"And  I  say  you  shall  not,"  she  gulped.  Her  lips 
quivered,  but  she  went  on,  "How  —  how  dare  you  — " 

Her  faltering  question  was  not  completed,  because 
Stephen  bounded  to  her  side,  snatched  hold  of  her  arm  and 
endeavored  to  wrench  the  letter  from  her  hand. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     197 

"Stephen!"  she  screamed  at  him.  "Stephen,  don't — 
don't!" 

"Let  me  have  that  letter  then,  Patricia,"  he  hissed. 
"Give  it  to  me,  or  I'll  take  it  away  from  you." 

"No,  no,  you  wouldn't  do  that,"  she  contradicted,  "you 
couldn't!  Stephen,  don't!  You're  hurting  me — so!  Oh, 
my  arm!" 

"If  you  don't  want  me  to  hurt  you,  Patricia,"  he 
threatened  hoarsely,  "let  me  have — " 

Then  by  an  effort,  tremendous  for  one  so  delicate,  she 
jerked  herself  free  and  threw  the  sealed  envelope  into  the 
grate. 

Stephen  bit  an  oath  in  two  before  it  was  uttered.  He 
snatched  the  tongs  and  shoved  them  into  the  fire.  A 
blazing  log  rolled  from  the  andirons  on  to  the  stone 
hearth.  The  letter  lay  among  the  red  embers,  crisp  and 
brown,  and  at  a  savage  poke  of  the  tongs  it  fell  apart 
in  ashes. 

When  he  stood  up  and  looked  at  his  wife,  much  of  his 
passion  left  him.  She  was  marble- white,  clinging  to  the 
back  of  a  chair,  her  wrist  marked  with  welts  where  his 
fingers  had  been.  Contrition  for  his  unwarrantable 
action  tussled  with  the  green-eyed  monster  that  still 
battled  at  the  portals  of  his  soul. 

"Patricia,"  he  ejaculated  in  a  wretched  state,  "tell 
me  who  wrote  it.  Oh,  I  must  know,  dear!  God,  I  must, 
I  must!" 

As  though  she  had  not  heard  his  appeal  at  all,  she  still 
stared  into  the  grate,  shockingly  unnerved. 

"My  letter!  My  darling's  letter!"  fell  tonelessly  from 
her  lips.  "It's  burned,  gone!  My  boy's  letter,  and — 
and  I  wanted  it — I  wanted  it!" 

Then  she  fled  the  room,  weeping  hysterically. 

Stunned  and  panting,  Claypoole  fixed  unseeing  eyes 
upon  the  door  that  shut  her  in.  He  was  frozen  cold  with 


ig8    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

the  sudden  solving  of  the  riddle  which  had  forced  him  to 
an  execrable  act.  His  wife  loved  another  man!  In  the 
east,  at  Ossining!  The  man  lived  there!  Then,  why, 
in  God's  name,  had  she  married  him?  Why?  Why? 

Mechanically  he  poked  the  smouldering  log  back  upon 
the  fire  dogs,  staggered  into  the  snuggery  and  closed  the 
door  as  though  some  loved  one  lay  a  corpse  under  the  roof. 

Patricia  had  not  loved  him  in  the  least  when  she  had 
married  him,  his  reason  asserted.  His  throbbing  soul 
insisted  that  she  had.  His  judgment  rapped  smartly 
against  this  possibility.  All  her  sweet  protestations  in 
those  few  pre-wedding  days 'had  been  false!  To  this, 
denials  from  the  very  center  of  his  being  came  swift  and 
fast.  She  had  loved  him !  Of  that  he  was  sure! 

Questions  for  which  he  found  no  answers  continued  to 
beat  upon  him  through  a  long,  dreary  forenoon. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     199 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  luncheon  gong,  cutting  through  the  silence,  aroused 
Stephen  Claypoole  to  the  conviction  that  he  had  plodded 
through  an  interval  of  intense  suffering.  Strong  as  he 
was  in  body  and  mind,  his  emotional  struggle  had  left 
him  quivering  with  nerves  and  indecision.  Again  and 
again  he  had  rehearsed  the  scene  of  that  morning,  and 
each  bitter  finish  of  each  rehearsal  had  but  more  firmly 
persuaded  him  that  Patricia  loved  another  man. 

His  better  self  told  him  the  generous  thing  to  do 
would  be  to  release  her.  He  remembered  his  violent 
wooing  in  Butte.  He  had  given  her  not  a  moment  to 
think.  He  had  carried  her  completely  off  her  feet,  and 
she  had  married  him  before  she  knew  what  she  was 
doing.  Yes,  he  must  set  her  free. 

But  there  were  his  heart  and  his  husbandhood  ham- 
mering against  that  course  of  action.  She  was  his  by 
every  written  and  unwritten  law  of  God  and  man. 

Yet,  did  she  belong  to  him,  if  she  did  not  love  him? 
Love,  and  love  only,  made  a  man  and  a  woman  one  in 
thought  and  purpose. 

His  red  hair  literally  stood  on  end  when  he  ejaculated 
aloud  that  he  would  not  let  her  go.  She  had  married 
him.  She  was  his  wife,  and  so  long  as  he  stood  in  his 
shoes  above  ground,  the  fellow  in  the  east  should  never 
have  her. 

In  utter  weariness  he  drew  himself  up  as  the  gong  rang 
once  more.  With  no  desire  to  eat,  he  went  into  the  living 
room  where  Ming  slip-slapped  to  and  fro,  arranging  the 
noon  meal.  Patricia  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  nor  could 
Stephen  catch  a  sound  from  behind  her  dosed  door.  He 
knocked  and  then  knocked  again. 


200    THE    MARRIAGE   OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"May  I  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea,  Patricia?"  he  called. 
And  her  suppressed,  "No,  thanks!"  sent  him  headlong 
to  the  table. 

"I  don't  want  any  luncheon,  Ming,"  he  said  curtly. 
"Clear  the  stuff  away." 

The  afternoon  proved  to  Stephen  more  galling  than  the 
morning.  In  desperation  he  put  on  his  coat  and  cap, 
went  out  of  doors  and  wandered  through  the  mountains. 
On  his  return  he  found  the  house  not  a  whit  less  irksome. 

As  the  day  advanced,  a  hell  of  jealousy  descended  upon 
him  in  proportions  so  huge  that  it  wiped  away  the  benevo- 
lent promptings  which  had  been  conspicuous  above  his 
pained  pride  and  which  had  tempered  his  impatience. 
He  had  been  robbed.  A  thief  had  stolen  into  his  chancel 
of  love  and  seized  his  dearest  treasure. 

It  was  nearly  dinner  time  before  he  would  admit  to 
himself  that  Patricia  was  the  pirate.  She  had  led  him 
into  a  fool's  paradise.  She  had  worse  than  deceived  him. 
His  sense  of  justice  would  not  allow  him  to  hold  up  the 
man  at  Ossining  for  punishment.  Patricia,  exquisite 
Patricia,  with  all  her  alluring  loveliness,  had  worked  him 
measureless  harm.  Stretched  to  his  fullest  height,  his 
soul  ravaged  by  pain,  he  vowed  he  would  readjust  matters 
between  them. 

Patricia's  day  had  been  unlike  Claypoole's  in  that  she 
has  stayed  in  her  room,  abandoned  to  grief.  Now  and 
then,  she  moved  to  replenish  the  fire.  Although  the 
weather  was  far  more  mild  than  during  the  first  days  of 
her  exile  at  the  "Eagle's  Nest,"  there  were  forlorn  moan- 
ings  and  whisperings  outside  that  doubled  and  tripled  the 
dark  melancholy  of  the  place. 

She  longed  intensely  for  Stephen,  the  Stephen  she  had 
married.  The  man  who  had  torn  Michael's  letter  from 
her  was  Patrick  O'Kelleron. 

At  length  the  only  thought  her  diseased  brain  held 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    201 

was  that  he  had  slain  Stephen  as  he  had  the  Pater.  She 
counted  her  man  no  longer  in  that  esoteric  trinity  of 
husband,  father  and  devil.  She  wanted  to  die,  to  follow 
Stephen  into  eternity  where  she  would  never  be  sepa- 
rated from  him  again. 

The  idea  of  her  own  demise  lifted  her  quickly  to  her 
feet. 

She  remembered  once  in  Butte  admiring  a  beautifully 
etched  knife  in  a  Japanese  shop.  Stephen  had  bought 
it,  laughingly  telling  her  that  it  was  sharp  enough  to 
pierce  a  pine  knot. 

Extracting  it  from  the  ivory  scabbard,  she  contemplated 
the  slender,  shining  blade.  What  she  intended  doing  with 
it  impelled  her  back  to  the  grate.  She  sat  down,  wholly 
bewildered.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  her  husband 
walked  in,  and,  as  if  he  had  struck  it  from  her  hand,  the 
knife  slipped  down  beside  her  into  the  chair. 

"Patricia,"  he  began,  shutting  the  door,  "I've  brought 
you  something  to  eat." 

He  spoke  very  sternly,  as  he  had  that  morning  when 
he  had  demanded  the  letter.  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
remained  as  quiet  as  her  throbbing  nerves  would  allow. 

"I  refuse  to  let  you  go  without  food  any  longer,  my 
dear,"  he  continued  in  the  same  imperious  manner. 
"Here's  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  and  a  little  brandy  in 
hot  water." 

"I  don't  want  it,"  she  succeeded  in  telling  him. 

"But  you're  going  to  take  it,  nevertheless,"  he  returned. 
"It's  ridiculous  the  way  you  act.  Sit  up  instantly,  and  do 
as  I  tell  you.  I  shall  feed  you  myself,  if  you  don't, 
Patricia. — Drink  this!" 

She  sniffed  the  pungent  odor  of  the  brandy  under  her 
nose. 

"It  smells  horrid,"  she  stammered,  and  she  pursed 
her  lips. 


202     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Drink  it!"  ordered  Claypoole. 

She  gulped  it  down  in  resignation. 

"That'll  brace  you  up  a  bit,"  he  stated.  "Patricia 
how  do  you  expect  to  find  the  way  to  your  mouth  unless 
you  open  your  eyes? — Here! " 

If  he  had  not  been  obsessed  by  the  memory  that  she 
had  called  the  man  in  Ossining  "darling,"  he  would  not 
have  strangled  the  pity  that  stirred  within  him  when  she 
dropped  the  spoon  which  he  had  thrust  into  her  fingers. 

"Why,  you're  so  weak,  you  can't  hold  it,"  he  ejaculated, 
"and  it's  nothing  but  your  crying  that  has  brought  you 
to  such  a  shocking  state.  I  wish  I  had  taken  you  in 
hand  before.  If  I  had,  this  hateful  affair  would  have 
been  settled  long  ago.  I  must  talk  to  you,  but  that's 
impossible  in  your  present  condition.  I'll  put  this  pillow 
under  your  head.  Like  that!  You're  shivering,  too." 

Reaching  for  a  blanket,  he  placed  it  around  her  shoul- 
ders. 

She  opened  her  lips  to  speak  but  closed  them  again. 
She  thought  to  acquaint  him  with  the  fact  that  weakness 
had  not  relaxed  her  fingers.  He  had  scared  her  silly,  that 
was  all.  As  Claypoole  saw  her  sigh  against  the  soft 
pillow,  he  was  again  compelled  to  believe  that  she  was 
acting  for  his  benefit.  It  was  a  nasty  idea,  but  he  had 
nursed  it  nearly  all  the  afternoon. 

"Patricia,  I  order  you  to  cease  shaking  that  way,"  he 
said  curtly.  "If  you  think  I  don't  mean  what  I've  said, 
you're  very  much  mistaken. — Lie  quiet  until  I  fix  your 
food." 

Then  he  went  to  the  table  where  he  broke  the  bread 
into  the  milk. 

"Are  you  willing  to  eat  now?"  he  asked,  straightening. 

"I  can't,"  she  answered  painfully.     "My  throat's  sore." 

Frowning,  he  picked  up  the  spoon  and  wiped  it  on 
the  napkin. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     203 

"Surely  it  is,"  he  replied.  "A  girl  can't  cry  for  hours 
and  not  have  a  sore  throat.  But,  in  spite  of  that,  you 
must  eat  this. 

"I'm  sorry,  my  dear,  that  you  make  me  do  something 
very  much  against  my  liking,"  he  went  on  severely.  "But 
I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  great  deal  of  your 
headache  has  been  caused  by  your  refusal  to  take  food." 
Sitting  down  beside  her,  he  dipped  into  the  milk.  "Open 
your  mouth,  Patricia,  and  eat  this  bread." 

"I  couldn't  swallow  it,"  she  sobbed.    "Oh,  I  couldn't! " 

"Yes,  you  can,  and  you  must,  Patricia.  Do  you  want 
me  to  feed  you  forcibly?" 

"No,"  she  breathed.  "No,  no!  I— I  will  in  a 
minute." 

He  waited  with  the  full  spoon  in  his  hand.  He  could 
hear  his  heart  thumping  as  if  it  were  located  in  his  ear 
drums.  His  conscience  gave  him  a  twinge  as  he  gazed 
at  her,  but  instantly  he  hardened  his  heart.  How  she 
must  have  suffered  over  that  damnable  letter!  By 
the  look  of  her,  she  had  cried  all  day.  He  would  have  no 
more  of  it. 

"Open  your  mouth  immediately,"  was  his  austere  com- 
mand. 

She  ate  slowly,  swallowing  with  difficulty.  Finally 
the  bowl  was  empty,  and  he  stood  up.  She  was  very 
quiet  now,  her  face  unlined  and  childlike  and  peaceful. 
Of  course,  the  brandy  had  calmed  her;  it  had  put  her  to 
sleep,  too,  he  concluded. 

Before  going  out,  he  hesitated,  his  loving  heart  yearning 
over  her.  If  he  left  her  in  the  chair,  she  might  not 
waken  until  morning.  Surely  he  had  been  unnecessarily 
cruel  to  let  his  jealous  temper  run  away  with  him  in  such 
a  manner.  She  could  not  help  loving  the  man  at  Ossin- 
ing  any  more  than  he  himself  could  help  loving  her. 
That  thought  had  not  occurred  to  him  before.  It  put 


204    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

another  light  on  her  conduct.  Yet  the  phrase,  "My 
darling's  letter,"  mocked  him.  As  he  placed  the  bowl 
on  the  tray,  a  shudder  shook  his  enormous  frame. 
Another  man,  whom  he  was  unable  to  visualize,  rose  up 
between  him  and  the  tiny,  reclining  figure  with  taunting 
reality,  and  a  racking  sob  left  his  lips.  He  could  not 
keep  her.  To  lift  her  into  life  and  love  once  more, — 
he  knew  of  but  one  way. 

"Patricia,"  he  exclaimed  in  husky  misery. 

"What?"  she  queried  drowsily. 

"Listen,"  he  begged. 

"Well?"  she  said,  her  head  bobbing  as  she  attempted 
to  raise  it. 

Pushed  to  the  very  end  of  his  strained  wits,  he  sat  down. 

"Poor,  little  girl!  Poor,  unfortunate  child!"  he  mur- 
mured brokenly.  "Patricia  dear,  won't  you  go  to  bed?" 

In  her  effort  to  throw  off  the  cloud  of  slumber,  she 
stirred.  That  tender,  beautiful  voice  was  Stephen's. 
One  of  her  small  hands  lifted,  and  he  caught  it  as  it  fell. 
She  did  not  withdraw  it,  and  Stephen  clasped  it  closer. 

"I'm  very  tired,"  she  whispered. 

"Of  course,  you  are,  dear.  I  know  you  are,"  he  agreed, 
"and  I  frightened  you!  I'm  so  sorry,  oh,  so  sorry!" 

"My  head  aches,  too,  Stephen,"  she  told  him.  "It's 
strange — my  head — on  top  here.  It  hurts!" 

"But  if  you  go  to  bed  and  to  sleep,"  he  argued,  "you'd 
feel  better  in  the  morning.  Will  you — now?  And  please 
don't  cry  any  more." 

Stephen's  voice  suddenly  failed  him,  and  he  bent  for- 
ward and  laid  his  lips  on  her  hand.  Then  he  was  stung 
with  the  recollection  that  in  a  spiritual  sense  she  did  not 
belong  to  him,  no  matter  how  his  mighty  desire  clamored 
for  her. 

"Dear,  sit  up  now,"  he  urged  softly.  "Why,  you're 
quite  dead  with  sleep,  poor  baby!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     205 

"I  know  it,"  she  admitted.     "By  and  by,  I'll  go  to  bed." 

"But  I  can't  leave  you  like  this,"  he  persisted.  "Rest, 
dear  child,  while  Stephen  takes  down  your  hair.  No, 
you  don't  even  have  to  move.  I'll  do  it  very  carefully." 

Already  she  was  well  on  her  way  to  the  land  of  Nod, 
and,  as  she  made  no  reply,  hot  blood  raced  to  his  temples. 
He  was  going  to  put  her  to  bed !  But  just  how  to  begin, 
he  had  not  the  least  notion.  He  had  no  idea  where  to 
find  the  garments  she  needed,  and  his  knees  were  weak 
as  he  walked  over  to  turn  down  the  light.  Then  he  went 
to  the  wardrobe  and  opened  it. 

There  he  discovered  a  heavy  nightdress,  spanning  two 
hooks.  White  to  the  ears,  he  flung  it  over  his  arm  and 
crept  across  the  room.  From  the  dresser  he  gathered  up 
a  comb  and  a  brush,  and  he  turned  to  take  note  of  his 
wife's  ebony  curls,  mysteriously  pinned  about  her  shapely 
head. 

In  puzzlement  his  fingers  made  a  swift  run  through  his 
own  red  hair.  Where  should  he  start  on  this  unfamiliar 
task  that  had  suddenly  loomed  before  him  as  a  duty?  He 
extended  one  hand  but  drew  it  back  again. 

"Patricia,"  in  an  undertone. 

She  was  sound  asleep,  and  he  did  not  call  her  again. 
He  reached  forth  and  pulled  out  three  hairpins  at  one 
time.  He  blinked  at  them  an  instant,  then  laid  them 
side  by  side  with  mathematical  precision  on  the  table. 
Encouraged,  he  once  more  dove  into  her  dark  curls. 

When  the  last  pin  was  out,  and  her  hair  came  shower- 
ing down  about  her  white  face,  he  stood  up  in  bewilder- 
ment. Then,  with  his  under  lip  caught  between  his 
teeth,  he  ventured  to  pass  the  brush  the  length  of  her 
hair. 

"Heaven  help  me  not  to  pull  it  out  by  the  roots,"  he 
supplicated,  brushing  bravely. 

Evidently  he   was  helped,   because   he   managed   to 


2o6    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

untangle  the  curls  and  twist  them  into  an  irregular  mis- 
shapen braid. 

There,  that  part  was  done!     But  more  was  to  follow! 

When  he  lifted  her  out  of  the  chair,  she  sighed,  and  her 
head  fell  against  his  breast.  She  was  but  a  feather- 
weight in  his  embrace.  Such  a  little  girl — his  wife! 
He  changed  his  invocation  from  "God  help  me!"  to  "Oh, 
God,  let  me  have  strength  to  help  her!" 

On  his  slow  journey  through  the  shadowed  room,  there 
surged  through  him  the  resolve  that  to-morrow  he  would 
make  her  happy.  To-morrow  they  would  start  for  New 
York — and  from  New  York  to  Ossining.  He  had  dis- 
covered in  his  fraternal  ministrations  that,  no  matter 
what  happened  to  him,  he  must  revive  in  her  the  wish  to 
live.  His  darling's  happiness  before  his  own  always! 

The  wind  mourned  over  the  mountains  drearily.  All 
of  a  sudden  be  became  conscious  of  it,  and  it  seemed,  as 
he  held  to  his  breast  the  woman  who  had  made  barren  his 
soul,  that  there  were  human  beings  out  there,  chained  in 
the  wilderness,  as  he  was  to  be  chained  to  long  years  of 
future  desolation.  With  that  thought  in  mind  he  flung 
up  his  head. 

"Thou,  God,  who  hast  never  been  tempted  by  a  woman's 
sweetness,"  he  prayed,  "help — help  me — to  give  her  up! 
Amen!" 

As  he  laid  her  gently  down  on  the  bed,  he  repeated 
through  strained  lips,  "Help  me  now,  God!  Help  me 
to-morrow,  too!" 

By  the  time  he  had  made  her  ready  for  rest,  he  was 
quite  used  to  praying.  The  fact  is  that  from  the  moment 
he  started  that  difficult  task  of  locating  buttons  until  her 
small,  cold  feet  were  encased  in  the  knitted  night  slippers, 
"Dear  God,  help  us  both!"  and  "Oh,  God,  help!"  were 
poured  into  the  ear  of  the  Infinite  in  rapid  succession. 

It  was  only  when  he  stood  inside  the  snuggery  door 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     207 

that  he  realized  fully  how  much  his  burning  petitions  had 
bolstered  up  his  manhood.  He  had  not  changed  his 
mind.  To-morrow  he  would  give  her  back  to  happiness. 

And  Patricia  slept,  and  in  her  dreams  there  walked  a 
procession  of  figures, — strangers  with  dark  faces  and 
leering  smiles.  From  what  seemed  a  great  distance  away 
Alf  Carraby  and  Ruth  Rowland  waved  their  hands  to  her. 
Then  they  dissolved  into  Sing  Sing  prison  where  she 
followed  them,  only  to  see  Michael  behind  bars  through 
which  she  could  not  reach  him.  She  was  running  away 
from  the  beleaguered  place  when  she  saw  the  Pater  and 
Stephen  float  towards  her. 

Both  were  smiling,  and  her  own  lips  curled  a  little  in 
response.  She  had  thought  they  were  both  dead.  She 
stirred  in  her  sleep  when  the  Pater  took  one  of  her  hands, 
and  Stephen,  his  brown  eyes  glowing,  came  directly  to 
her,  as  she  pronounced  his  name  aloud. 

Then  it  seemed  as  if  they  lifted  her  completely  off  her 
feet  and  carried  her  away  through  illimitable  spaces. 
They  rode  forth  like  the  wind.  How  blissfully  safe 
she  felt  between  the  two  of  them.  Then  she  thought  they 
suddenly  alighted  on  the  top  of  a  huge  mountain.  She 
struggled  when  she  saw  the  "Eagle's  Nest."  She  cried 
out  against  going  into  the  house,  but  the  next  thing  she 
knew  she  was  in  the  living  room,  alone  with  her  father. 

"Where  did  he  go,  Pater  love?"  she  asked.  Then,  more 
sharply,  "Where  is  my  husband?" 

And  the  Pater,  all  at  once  become  a  wizened,  unsmiling 
and  death-white  wraith,  answered: 

"He's  dead.  Patrick  O'Kelleron  killed  us  both.  His 
life  is  none  too  precious  to  pay  his  debt  to  the  Pepper- 
days." 

Her  head  turned  restlessly  on  the  pillow  as  if  she  were 
striving  to  throw  off  the  hateful  nightmare.  But  she  be- 
came quiet  again  and  went  on  dreaming.  Hideous 


208    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

pictures  passed  across  her  mind,  like  demon  figures  mov- 
ing over  a  screen.  Patrick  O'Kelleron  glowered  darkly 
before  her  sleeping  vision.  She  wanted  to  kill  him;  she 
intended  to  kill  him!  It  was  her  duty,  her  sacred  duty 
to  Stephen,  to  the  Pater. 

Like  a  small,  white  ghost,  she  drifted  from  the  bed. 
She  might  have  been  wide-awake,  so  easily  did  she  locate 
the  knife  that  had  slipped  down  between  the  chair  arm  and 
the  cushion. 

With  it  clasped  in  her  fingers,  she  flitted  across  the 
floor  and,  like  a  shadow,  was  gone. 

The  silvery  tone  of  the  mantel  clock  struck  "one"  as 
Stephen  Claypoole  opened  his  eyes.  In  his  pajamas 
and  dressing  gown  he  had  fallen  asleep,  reading,  and  the 
green-shaded  lamp  had  burned  dim  since  the  book  had 
dropped  aside. 

For  a  time  he  sat,  stupidly  wishing  he  were  in  bed. 
Aye,  that  it  was  morning,  rather!  There  would  be  no 
more  sleep  for  him  that  night! 

All  in  an  instant  he  was  impressed  with  the  feeling  that 
he  was  not  alone.  He  turned  his  head  and  for  a  moment 
imagined  that,  out  of  the  past  agony  and  his  own  super- 
lative love,  he  was  seeing  some  one  who  was  not  there  at 
all.  That  shrinking,  white  figure,  kneeling  within  touch- 
ing distance,  was  not  his  wife!  She  was  forbidden  to 
him;  her  own  wish  had  caused  the  separation  which  lay 
but  a  few  hours  off.  He  had  been  in  consummate  torment 
so  long  that  his  brain  was  conjuring  phantoms. 

"Patricia,  Patricia,"  he  exclaimed. 

Then,  when  a  short  sob  reached  him,  he  knew  she  had 
come  to  him  at  last.  Joy  flooded  through  him  in  such 
measure  that  hot  tears  were  wrung  from  his  eyes.  She 
loved  him!  Nothing — nothing  but  a  great  revelation 
could  have  conquered  her  maidenly  reserve. 

"My  darling,"  he  breathed,  laying  his  hand  on  her 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     209 

bowed  head.  "You've  come  to  forgive  me,  dear.  You've 
forgotten  all  my  wickedness.  You're  mine — now — mine ! " 

He  sprang  from  the  divan,  still  talking  in  swift,  jerky 
sentences. 

She  was  wide  awake  but  too  bewildered  to  move.  Hazily 
she  remembered  that  Stephen  had  brushed  her  hair,  that 
he  had  to  put  her  to  bed.  Then  the  dream  came  back,  like 
some  ugly  tale. 

"Let  me — stay  here  a  minute,"  she  breathed.  "For- 
give— forgive  me!" 

"There's  not  one  thing  for  me  forgive,"  he  murmured. 
"You  don't  have  to  stay  on  your  knees  to  me,  my 
Patricia.  That  you  are  here — that  you've  come  of  your 
own  accord. — My  precious — let  me  hold  you  in  my  arms." 

Overcome  by  whipping  emotion,  he  knelt  down  beside 
her,  fixing  her  with  a  lingering,  hungry  gaze.  He 
touched  her  arm,  and  Patricia  clutched  his  hand. 

"I  came  —  in  —  here  —  to  —  kill  —  you,  I  guess,"  she 
gasped.  "I  think  I  must  have." 

"And  it  almost  did  kill  me!"  he  returned  hoarsely, 
disregarding  the  dire  significance  of  her  faltering  speech. 
"How  beautiful  you  are!  How  white  you  are!  Dar- 
ling, don't  tremble  so.  Don't  you  understand  you're 
here  with  me,  and  that  I  love  you — that  I  love  you  better 
than  all  the  world — better  than  myself!" 

He  snatched  her  roughly,  desperately,  to  his  breast  as 
she  pleaded  brokenly  that  he  listen,  please,  please,  to 
something  she  had  to  tell  him. 

"Put  your  arms  around  me,"  he  begged,  and  he  kissed 
her  fervently  again  and  again.  "How  beautiful  your 
hair  is!  Dear  curls — my  curls!  I'm  starved — starved! 
How  I've  wanted  you — you, — sweet, — just  you!" 

As  if  he  intended  never  to  let  her  go,  he  strained  her 
against  him,  nor  did  her  stammering  pleas  sink  into  his 
consciousness. 


2io    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"How  awful  these  days  have  been,  my  dear,  dear 
love !"  he  murmured.  "But  they're  over  forever.  Listen 
to  me,  Patricia!  Stop  crying,  or  you  can't  hear  what  I 
say.  Everything  is  forgotten  as  if  it  had  never  been! 
I  love  you! —  How  wee  you  are!  Only  a  small,  small 
armful!  You're  in  my  arms,  darling!  Your  head  is  where 
it  ought  to  be.  I  shall  never  let  you  go  again." 

On  and  on  he  rambled,  promising  her  his  lifelong  de- 
votion, his  love,  his  constant  care.  His  musical  voice, 
deep-toned  with  passion,  soothed  her  to  silence.  She 
felt  his  warm  tears  on  her  face.  She  was  living  in  that 
day  when  the  Prince  of  Peace  was  returned  to  her — 
through  Stephen.  She  had  forgotten  the  Pater,  the  knife 
and  Patrick  O'Kelleron. 

Suddenly  he  held  her  out  on  his  hands  with  one  magni- 
ficent, tragic  gesture. 

"Dear  Father  in  Heaven,  Thou  hast  given  me  back  Thy 
choicest  gift — my  wife!"  he  said.  "And  I — I,  Patrick 
O'Kelleron,  swear  to  Thee — " 

Patricia's  scream  cut  into  his  oath  and  checked  it.  As 
she  struggled,  he  drew  her  back  and  covered  her  mouth 
with  kisses  until  he  lost  all  control  of  himself.  He  re- 
membered nothing  but  that  she  had  broken  down  the 
barrier  between  them. 

When  he  ceased  kissing  her,  her  head  fell  helpless 
against  him. 

"Oh,  Christ  in  Heaven,  how  I  love  you,  dear — my 
dear,"  he  cried  thrillingly.  "Oh,  heart  of  mine,  how  I 
love  you!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    211 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  dawn  was  struggling  out  of  a  dark,  frost-bound 
night  as  Stephen  Claypoole  raised  his  head  and  peered 
into  the  shadowy  room.  At  first  his  thoughts  were  con- 
fused. All  his  sensibilities  refused  to  answer  his  mental 
demand,  "What — what  happened?" 

Before  he  came  upon  the  answer  to  his  question,  his 
eyes  fell  upon  Patricia  over  near  the  window.  She  was 
curled  up  in  a  big  chair  under  a  cover,  her  lids  lowered, 
her  face,  blue-white,  resting  on  her  delicate  arm.  She 
looked  as  if  she  were  dead! 

Then  he  remembered,  and  shamed  blood  colored  his 
face.  He  recollected  that,  when  he  had  fallen  asleep,  she 
had  been  belted  tightly  within  his  arms,  and  that  she  had 
been  very  quiet,  very  subdued.  His  refusal  to  listen  to 
her  explanation  why  she  had  crept  into  the  snuggery  rose 
up  and  confronted  him. 

Silently  he  slipped  from  the  bed  and  tiptoed  across  the 
room.  His  eyes  slowly  filling  with  tears,  he  gazed  down 
upon  her.  Now,  in  the  gray,  morning  light,  he  was 
ravaged  by  regret  and  remorse.  She  had  begged  for  a  few 
little  minutes  in  which  to  tell  him  something.  She  had 
cried  that  she  had  come  to  kill  him.  And  he  had  laughed. 
How  his  own  answer  tormented  him! 

"I  don't  care,  my  sweet,  what  brought  you  here.  I'm 
willing  to  die  in  your  arms.  I  won't  listen  to  anything. 
I  won't!  I  won't!  I  want  you  now — you,  always!" 

He  cursed  his  self-indulgent  egotism.  Then  he  added 
fresh  curses  upon  his  unquenched  desires  which  at  this 
moment  almost  forced  him  to  take  her,  sleeping  though 
she  was,  again  into  his  arms.  He  could  find  no  excuse 


212     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

for  himself,  as  he  recalled  how  he  had  madly  locked  the 
door  when  she  had  endeavored  to  escape  to  her  own 
chamber.  He  had  put  the  key  far  out  of  the  reach  of  her 
slender,  pleading  arms.  He  shot  a  glance  to  the  picture 
molding.  Yes,  there  it  was,  gleaming  at  him  like  a 
brass  eye.  Every  word  she  had  uttered,  her  every  sob- 
bing appeal,  yes,  every  tear  she  had  shed  seemed  to 
attack  him,  to  display  his  conduct  to  his  true  self  with 
bitter  recrimination.  Why  had  he  not  listened?  Why 
had  he  not  given  a  thought  to  the  appalling  fact  that  she 
loved  another  man.  She  would  have  confided  in  him  if 
he  had  given  her  time.  She  had  begged  him  to  hear  her, 
and,  gross  brute  that  he  was,  he  had  refused.  He  writhed 
in  mental  torture.  This  battle  to  retain  his  self-esteem 
was,  indeed,  a  wracking  experience. 

He  dreaded,  yet  insupportably  longed,  for  her  to  waken. 
Of  course,  she  would  insist  on  leaving  him  immediately. 
The  thought  covered  him  with  cold  sweat.  Where 
yesterday  he  had  adored  her  to  the  point  of  delirium,  now 
his  heart  of  hearts  encompassed  her  around  and  about, 
leaving  no  opening  through  which  she  could  escape  to  the 
man  at  Ossining. 

Blindly  he  stumbled  away,  procured  the  key,  gathered 
up  his  wearing  apparel  and  vanished. 

A  throng  of  bitter  memories  pried  open  Patricia's  eyes 
a  few  minutes  later.  It  was  an  appreciable  time  before 
she  realized  that  she  was  was  still  in  the  snuggery.  Then 
the  material  things  around  her  swung  dizzily  in  circles 
as  memory,  in  lightning  flashes,  went  across  her  brain. 
That  slender  sharp  knife!  And  she  had  dreamed  of 
killing  Stephen  with  it!  No,  not  Stephen!  Patrick 
O'Kelleron!  Under  the  blanket  her  body  became  like 
goose  skin.  She  could  not  have  been  colder  if  she  had 
stood  naked  in  a  storm. 

She  remembered  she  had  been  gripped  for  hours  in  her 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     213 

husband's  arms,  and  she  turned  from  that  happening  as 
from  a  cup  of  gall  and  wormwood.  Nothing  was  of  con- 
sequence but  that  she  had  not  murdered  Stephen. 

The  knife,  where  was  it?  Had  it  just  been  part  of 
her  dream  that  she  had  brought  it  with  her? 

She  sprang  up.  Last  night  she  had  awakened  over 
there  by  the  divan.  Yes,  there  it  was!  In  another 
instant  she  had  secured  it  and  was  back  under  the  blanket. 

A  familiar  squeak  announced  the  opening  of  the  door, 
and  Stephen  walked  in.  She  did  not  move  or  speak.  She 
heard  him  place  a  table  at  her  side,  and  the  odor  of 
coffee  came  to  her  nostrils. 

"Drink  this,  Patricia  dear,"  he  entreated  humbly.  "I'll 
keep  Ming  in  the  kitchen  for  an  hour.  There's  a  fire  in 
your  room." 

With  that  he  fled,  his  feet  tripping  over  each  other. 

At  ten  o'clock,  when  he  stole  again  into  the  snuggery, 
all  signs  of  her  had  disappeared. 

At  noon  time  he  took  her  a  tray  which  in  silence  he 
placed  beside  her  bed.  If  she  were  awake,  she  gave  no 
sign;  sighing,  he  went  away  again. 

After  dark,  when  the  dinner  things  had  been  cleared 
away,  he  ventured  back,  spurred  on  by  torture  such  as 
he  had  never  before  endured.  He  approached  her  softly, 
reverently.  She  was  not  asleep,  for  he  perceived  with  a 
spasm  of  pain  that  her  hand  went  to  her  eyes  at  his 
approach. 

"Last  night  I  was  crazy,  I  think,  Patricia,"  he  said. 
"Won't  you  look  at  me,  please,  dear?  Won't  you  let  me 
tell  you  how  sorry  I  am?" 

"I'm  so  glad,  oh,  so  glad  I  didn't  kill  you,"  she 
quivered  with  a  long  gasp. 

"How  silly,  to  get  such  a  notion  into  your  head," 
he  returned  jerkily.  "Darling,  I  know  exactly  what  hurts 
you  so,  but  I  can  help  you  if  you'll  forgive  me.  Won't 


214    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

you  forgive  your  boy  this  once.  Could  you  just  try? 
I'll  be  very  kind.  I  swear  I  will!  I'll  never  forget 
again  how  you  feel  toward  me.  Then  together  we  can 
work  out  this  horrid  situation.  It's  possible,  quite  pos- 
sible. We  ought  to  face  this  thing  just  as  it  is."  He  went 
white  and  red  as  he  spoke.  "I  was  mad,  Patricia,  stark 
mad  last  night!  Darling,  can't  you  find  it  in  your  dear, 
kind  heart  to  ease  my  mind  a  little?" 

"I  haven't  any  heart  left,  Stephen,"  she  wailed.  "It's 
gone  somewhere  away  off. — Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  do ! " 

She  set  her  teeth  upon  her  under  lip  to  restrain  its 
trembling. 

"I  was  mad  last  night,  too,"  she  confessed.  "Could 
you — could  you  let  me  go  away — now,  Stephen?  Away 
by  myself?  I  do  wish  to  go  so." 

His  whole  frame  shook  in  negation.  Less  now  than 
yesterday! 

"No!  No!  God,  no!"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh,  my 
dear,  sit  up,  or  at  least  turn  your  face  this  way!  Do 
let  me  talk  to  you  sensibly.  And  you  hear  me,  and  be 
persuaded  if  you  can.  I  wish  more  than  I  can  say  that 
I  had  listened  to  what  you  wanted  to  tell  me  last  night. 
Will  you  let  me  wrap  you  in  a  blanket  and  carry  you  to 
the  fire?  Then  you  can  tell  me  there." 

"Not  now,"  she  refused,  "not  now!" 

"We  can't  go  on  this  way,"  he  continued.  "It  isn't 
humanly  possible  to  stay  in  the  state  of  mind  you're 
in,  Patricia.  Child,  if  not  for  my  sake,  then  for  your 
own,  try  to  use  your  reason.  We're  married!  Nothing 
can  undo  that!  I  thought  once  it  could  be  done.  I  see 
now  it  can't.  You'll  change  your  mind  about  leaving  me, 
and  let  me  prove  my  love  for  you.  Say  you  will ! " 

Without  removing  her  hand  from  her  eyes,  she  said: 

"No!     Perhaps,  I  should  try  and  kill  you  again." 

Her  statement  filled  the  man  with  singular,  inward  fury. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     215 

She  was  acting  again.  She  was  a  poseur,  persistent  in  her 
tomfoolery. 

All  the  masculine,  subduing  instincts  arose  again  within 
him  and  clamored  against  her  edict  of  unhappiness  for 
them  both.  Yet,  how  could  he  determine  which  way  to 
turn  or  what  to  do  with  a  reticent  woman  who  would 
neither  show  any  common  sense  nor  even  look  at  him? 
He  had  bumped  into  a  wall  of  stone,  only  to  beat  his  head, 
already  bruised  and  aching,  against  it. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  California,  Patricia?"  he 
asked,  determined  to  ignore  her  attitude,  "or  if  not  there, 
some  other  place?" 

"With  you?"  she  breathed. 

"Certainly  with  me!"  he  responded.  "Of  course!  I'm 
your  husband.  Your  place  is  with  me;  mine  is  with  you." 

"Will  you  take  me  to  New  York?"  There  was  hope  in 
her  voice  as  she  put  the  question. 

Ossining  was  near  New  York.  That  thought  went  over 
Claypoole  like  a  douche  of  cold  water.  His  lips  became 
straight,  hard  lines. 

"Anywhere  but  there,"  he  said.  "If  we  went  to 
New  York,  you'd  leave  me.  I  won't  run  the  risk.  I 
can't  run  the  risk — to-day.  Your  idea  is  to  leave  me, 
isn't  it?" 

She  neither  affirmed  nor  negatived  his  question;  nor 
did  she  turn  her  head  on  the  pillow. 

"I'm  perfectly  willing  to  leave  Montana,  if  you  like," 
he  proceeded  after  a  while.  "But  I  love  you  too  well  to 
let  you  go  back  to  New  York." 

Once  more  he  waited  for  her  reply.  It  became  evi- 
dent that  she  did  not  intend  to  make  any,  so  he  said  in 
warmer  tones : 

"Then  I'll  telephone  for  a  drawing-room  to  Los  Angeles. 
Would  you  like  to  stop  off  at  Salt  Lake,  Patricia  dear?" 

"If  you  would,"  she  acquiesced  meekly. 


216    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

An  afterthought  forced  him  to  add: 

"I'll  take  you  to  any  spot  on  earth — save — New  York. 
Patricia,  isn't  there  anything  under  heaven  I  can  do 
to  make  you  happy?" 

"I  wish  I  could  go  away — alone,"  was  all  she  said. 

Again  intense  anger  shook  him.  He  strode  to  the 
door  as  if  to  escape  the  temptation  to  say  words  for  which 
he  would  be  sorry  afterwards. 

"Then  it's  settled  that  we'll  go  away  immediately,"  he 
said  in  stifled  tones,  "but — but  I  do  want  to  please  you. 
I'll  take  you  east  if  you'll  promise  to  live  with  me.  Will 
you,  Patricia?  Will  you  give  me  your  word  on  that?" 

"No,  Stephen,"  drifted  to  him  faintly. 

The  moment  the  door  closed  behind  him,  she  sat 
straight  up  in  bed.  She  could  not  go  to  Salt  Lake — Los 
Angeles — or  any  other  place  with  her  husband.  That 
was  firmly  established  in  her  mind.  She  was  beginning 
to  reason  somewhat.  She  had  married  Patrick  O'Kelleron. 
The  very  name  had  flung  the  Pater  into  her  vision  in 
Idaho.  She  did  not  make  any  effort  to  figure  out  the 
mystery  of  his  identification  with  Stephen.  Last  night 
she  had  thought  to  kill  Patrick  O'Kelleron  in  her  sleep. 
She  shuddered  back  to  the  pillow  and  covered  her  head. 
She  had  sense  enough  to  realize,  if  she  had  done  that, 
she  would  have  killed  the  person  she  loved  best  on  earth, — 
Stephen.  To  save  him  from  her  hate  against  Patrick 
O'Kelleron,  she  must  never  see  him  again. 

She  scrambled  out  of  bed,  electrified  by  the  sudden 
decision  that  she  would  run  away  from  the  "Eagle's 
Nest"  that  night.  She  would  go  now!  Now!  At  any 
minute  she  might  repeat  the  attempt  of  last  night  with 
disastrous  results.  She  slipped  to  the  floor,  her  strength 
gone,  her  heart  storming  against  the  picture  that  gripped 
her. 

Prostrate  there,  she  recalled  that  something  had  awak- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     217 

ened  her  the  night  before  in  the  snuggery.  Her  arm 
was  uplifted  for  the  blow,  too.  Again  the  dream  floated 
through  her  memory.  All  its  hideous  details  moved  on 
from  start  to  finish  until  once  more  she  stood  with  that 
upraised  knife  to  make  Patrick  O'Kelleron  pay  his  debt 
to  the  Pater. 

Then  she  had  seen  Stephen's  figure  on  the  divan.  That 
sight  had  toppled  her  over, — that  and  the  consciousness 
that  she  had  come  to  kill  him. 

Then,  indeed,  for  agonizing  moments,  was  she  caught 
and  held  by  panic.  Stephen's  dear  life  would  have  paid 
Patrick  O'Kelleron's  debt! 

With  an  effort  she  got  to  her  feet,  almost  in  convul- 
sions. She  paused  to  recollect  where  she  had  put  the 
knife  when  she  had  returned  from  the  snuggery.  Under 
the  scarf  on  the  dressing  table!  She  wanted  to  get  her 
hands  on  it  so  badly  that  she  lost  one  of  her  knitted  slip- 
pers in  her  flight  over  the  rug. 

Shudderingly  she  lifted  the  knife  as  if  she  loathed  its 
touch.  Then  she  noiselessly  opened  the  window  and 
flung  it  far  out  into  the  snow-covered,  mountain  shrub. 

Standing  in  her  nightrobe,  she  essayed  to  plan  her 
movements.  First,  she  had  the  forethought  to  creep  to 
the  door  and  turn  the  key. 

Then  in  trembling  silence  she  began  to  dress.  She 
must  hide  away  somewhere!  She  knew  no  other  way  to 
save  her  husband,  no  other  way  to  protect  him  from  her 
hatred  of  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  The  money  she  had  was 
Stephen's.  It  took  some  time  for  her  judgment  to  argue 
her  into  stowing  it  away  on  her  person.  Into  her  week- 
end bag  she  packed  the  few  necessary  things  that  lay  on 
her  dressing  table.  Working  swiftly,  she  gave  only  fit- 
ful attention  to  what  she  was  doing.  Mentally  she  was 
traveling  the  road  that  led  from  the  "Eagle's  Nest"  to  the 
city  of  Butte. 


2i8    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Then  through  the  open  window  she  dropped  her  bag 
to  the  ground  and  crawled  over  the  sill.  Like  a  man  in 
a  dream,  she  gazed  back  into  the  house  where  she  had 
met  life's  greatest  experiences.  She  was  leaving  it  for- 
ever. 

What  fetched  a  wistful,  suppressed  sob  and  a  surge  of 
love  for  Stephen  was  an  order  that  she  heard  him  give 
the  Mongolian: 

"We'll  leave  for  Salt  Lake  to-morrow  night,  Ming. 
Begin  packing  in  the  morning.  Mrs.  Claypocle  is  ill,  so 
go  about  it  with  as  little  fuss  as  possible." 

When  he  ceased  speaking,  she  plunged  through  the 
snow  to  the  road,  where  she  stood  an  instant,  dazedly  seek- 
ing her  bearings. 

Any  nervousness  as  to  what  might  happen  to  herself 
on  that  hazardous  journey  was  overcome  by  her  deter- 
mination to  catch  the  late  train  east.  Even  the  over- 
powering mountains  that  zigzagged  their  bulk  in  hazy 
lines  along  the  horizon  made  no  impression  upon  her. 
She  remembered  that  her  love  for  Stephen  was  driving 
her  away.  Finally  she  turned  from  the  "Eagle's  Nest" 
to  Butte,  off  there  where  hundreds  of  lights  shone  out  like 
a  swarm  of  winking  fireflies. 


THE    MARRIAGE   OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    219 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

ABOUT  the  time  that  her  love  for  her  husband,  Stephen 
Claypoole,  had  decided  Patricia  to  flee  from  her  husband, 
Patrick  O'Kelleron,  a  tall  young  man  stood  at  the  station 
entrance  in  Butte  and  ran  his  eye  over  a  line  of  taxis  and 
omnibuses.  Hotel  Thornton  was  his  destination;  so  he 
clambered  into  a  conveyance  that  bore  the  name  of  that 
hostelry,  placed  his  baggage  on  the  floor  and  sat  down. 

A  baffled,  unsatisfied  passion  had  driven  Edward  Blake 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  in  search  of  Patricia 
Pepperday. 

"It's  far  sweeter  to  love  a  little  than  to  be  adored 
much,"  an  ancient  lover  once  sighed.  To  this  Edward 
agreed  without  analysis.  Against  the  background  of 
Flossie's  tearful  submission  and  worshipful  yielding, 
Patricia's  haughty,  gray  eyes  had  proven  irresistibly 
alluring. 

At  the  time  when  one  calamity  after  another  had  de- 
scended on  the  Pepperdays,  Blake's  colossal  conceit  had 
argued  that  she  would  appeal  to  him.  This  conclusion 
had  induced  him  to  remain  aloofly  silent,  but  amazement 
and  consternation  at  her  sudden  departure  from  New 
York  had  sent  him  headlong  in  pursuit  of  her  address,  and 
he  considered  himself  a  clever  strategist  in  that  he  had 
inveigled  Fancy  Cavendish  into  displaying  her  picture 
postal  cards  which  she  had  received  from  Miss  Pepper- 
day.  The  recent  ones  were  postmarked,  "Butte,  Mont." 

Before  leaving  New  York  he  had  arranged  with  his 
law  partner  to  approach  Flossie  about  a  divorce,  and  he 
felt  certain  that  the  substantial  sum  he  was  willing  to 
settle  upon  her  would  be  a  temptation  she  could  not  with- 


220     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

stand.  All  women  were  attracted  toward  an  independent 
income,  and,  of  course,  Flossie  was  not  an  exception  to 
the  rule.  He  smiled  inwardly  as  he  remembered  how 
thoroughly  he  had  cut  himself  off  from  his  associates 
in  New  York.  A  trip  for  his  health  which  would  last 
until  he  was  needed  at  election;  yes,  he  might  be  home  in 
less  time;  indeed,  he  had  not  lost  his  ambitions  to  hold 
a  judgeship,  had  been  his  answers  to  impertinent  ques- 
tions. But  he  had  forborne  expressing  aloud  that  his 
future  depended  on  two  women,  Patricia  and  his  wife. 

As  the  'bus  rattled  up  the  hill,  he  muttered  a  comment 
about  Martin  Brewer  which  was  bald  in  its  emphasis. 
He  wondered  what  tack  he  would  be  forced  to  take  if 
Brewer  had  acquainted  Patricia  with  the  existence  of  a 
Mrs.  Edward  Blake.  Ah,  such  meddlesome  old  Betties, 
inoculated  with  moral  philanthropy,  were  a  menace  to 
every  young  man  of  the  better  class  in  New  York! 

On  this  momentous  journey  toward  the  setting  sun  and 
toward  love  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  Blake  was 
traveling  incognito.  He  was  unwilling  that  his  name  and 
fame  should  hamper  his  appeal  to  Patricia.  Even  though 
she  had  tattered  his  high  pride  to  ribbons  by  disdain  and 
contempt,  he  still  had  enough  conceit  to  buoy  him  up  in 
the  belief  that  once  she  looked  upon  him  in  this  land  of 
snow  and  ice — Bah!  That  for  pussyfoot  Brewer!  As  he 
swung  into  the  hotel,  he  snapped  his  mental  fingers 
straight  into  Martin's  face. 

"Thomas  Black,  Chicago,  111.,"  was  still  ink-moist  from 
the  flourish  of  his  fountain  pen  when  he  left  the  desk  to 
be  directed  to  his  room. 

Until  after  ten  o'clock  he  sat  in  the  hotel  lobby,  smok- 
ing. He  regretted  the  last  several  long  pulls  at  the  bottle 
in  his  traveling  case  as  he  remembered  Patricia's  wither- 
ing scorn  at  Balmville,  but  he  contented  himself  with  the 
thought  that  from  now  on  he  would  let  whiskey  alone. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    221 

A  good-natured  individual,  whom  he  had  noticed  at 
dinner  with  a  pretty  girl,  took  an  empty  chair  on  his 
right.  It  was  evident  to  Edward  that  he  was  a  well- 
known  citizen  for  he  bowed  frequently  and  often  greeted 
a  passer-by  with  a  chummy  "Howdy." 

Enviously  Blake  watched  him  play  with  a  large  cigar. 
No  man  could  so  enjoy  himself  and  have  one  big  care, 
and  the  sigh  that  followed  that  decision  seemed  to  come 
from  the  region  of  the  alderman's  boots.  Freedom  from 
open  and  secret  worries  was  not  listed  among  his  joys. 

Conscious  of  his  neighbor's  proximity  and  steady  stare, 
the  Butte  man  turned  his  head. 

"Nice  night,"  he  remarked  pleasantly  with  the  cam- 
araderie of  the  West. 

"Too  cold  to  suit  me,"  responded  Blake,  glad  of  speech. 

Poising  his  cigar  in  mid-air,  the  stranger  said: 

"Oh,  the  weather's  fine  now,  compared  to  what  it  has 
been.  I'm  Alf  Carraby,  sir,  an  old  resident  here. — Some 
folks  don't  like  livin'  up  here  in  this  high  altitude,  but 
to  my  mind  Butte's  the  only  city  on  the  globe." 

"You  have  the  same  idea  about  your  town  that  most 
people  have  about  theirs,"  laughed  Blake.  "Now,  I  don't 
care  to  live  west  of  Chicago  myself.  But  it's  a  matter 
of  growing  fond  of  a  place,  I  imagine." 

Without  hesitation  Carraby  agreed. 

"Of  course,  that's  so!  It's  generally  where  bread 
grows  well  buttered  that  a  fellow  likes  it.  Know  any- 
body in  Butte?" 

Out  of  Blake's  desire  to  locate  Patricia  before  he  slept 
sprang  a  quick  decision. 

"Yes,  I  have  one  friend  here,"  he  acknowledged.  "At 
least,  I  imagine  so,"  and  then  he  checked  himself  with  a 
short  ejaculation  which  went  unnoticed  by  the  other  man. 

A  small  black  bag  in  her  hand,  Patricia  Pepperday  was 
passing  through  the  hotel  corridor.  Edward  had  painted 


222     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

many  mind  pictures  about  his  first  glimpse  of  her  but 
never  one  like  this. 

"See  that  kid  goin'  along  there?"  Carraby  broke  in  on 
his  shocked  surprise.  "That  pretty,  little,  dark  one  just 
speakin'  to  the  clerk?  Well,  she  can  act,  that  girl  can!" 

By  sheer  will  power  Blake  glued  his  big  body  to  the 
chair.  His  judgment  reasoned  that  this  was  not  the 
propitious  moment  to  approach  her.  Yet,  as  she  dis- 
appeared into  the  elevator,  he  set  his  teeth  to  prevent 
himself  from  calling  out  her  name. 

"Who  is  she?"  he  queried,  with  effort  holding  his  voice 
steady. 

"Patricia  Rushmore,  and  as  sweet  a  chicken  as  ever 
acted  before  my  footlights,"  answered  Carraby  loqua- 
ciously. "She  was  my  star  just  long  enough  to  establish 
herself  as  a  favorite  here  in  Butte  and  then  gave  in  her 
notice.  I  had  an  up-and-down  fight  with  her,  but  it  didn't 
do  any  good.  I  can't  say  she  left  me  high  and  dry,  for 
her  understudy  is  a  cute  kid.  Her  name's  Ruth  Rowland, 
and  she's  a  peach  of  a  girl. 

"I'm  not  sayin'  a  word  against  her  or  her  acting,  mind 
you,  but  the  trouble  is,  I'm  goin'  to  marry  'er,  and,  of 
course,  I  can't  get  her  best  work.  I  said  'Damn'  to  her 
the  other  day,  and  she  gave  me  a  call  you  could  have  heard 
to  the  coast.  But,  Lord,  she's  so  sweet,  is  that  Ruth,  that 
I  don't  much  care  what  she  does  say  to  me. 

"But  it's  different  with  Rushmore.  She's  an  almighty 
hard  worker,  and  I'm  comin'  to  call  on  'er  to-morrow  and 
see  if  I  can  make  a  dicker  with  'er.  She  is  sure  some  good 
little  actress ! " 

"Did  she  join  another  company?"  inquired  Blake. 

"No,  she  wouldn't  do  that!  She  got  to  playin'  around 
with  an  author — " 

"So  you  have  authors  out  here,  too,"  was  the  curt  in- 
terruption. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    223 

"Yes,  a  sort  of  one,"  nodded  the  manager.  "Fellow  by 
name  of  Stephen  Claypoole,  and  he  scribbles  damned 
good  stuff,  or  at  least  the  parts  I've  read  were.  But 
Rushmore's  like  most  other  actresses!  She  fell  for  the 
first  good-lookin'  duck  that  came  quacking  along.  Say, 
didn't  she  look  as  if  some  one  had  dragged  her  through 
an  inch  knothole?  But,  maybe,  her  experiences  with  Clay- 
poole won't  hurt  'er  any  for  the  stage." 

"Claypoole?"  echoed  Blake  with  assumed  indifference. 
"Claypoole?  I  never  heard  of  him." 

"Perhaps,  not!  But  you  will  if  he  keeps  on  with  his 
work.  He's  a  picturesque  fellow,  that  Stephen,  but  I  wish 
to  God  I'd  never  introduced  'im  to  Miss  Rushmore." 

"A  picturesque  fellow!"  Edward  Blake  found  himself 
endeavoring  to  visualize  the  personality  of  the  man  who 
had  stamped  that  expression  of  suffering  on  Patricia 
Pepperday's  face.  His  ever-ready  hate  sprang  out  at  the 
stranger  with  murderous  intent. 

"Where  does  he  live?"  dropped  from  his  lips. 

"That  depends,"  Carraby  told  him.  "While  he  was 
courtin'  Rushmore,  he  stuck  to  Butte  closer  than  a  poor 
relation.  But  he  has  a  place  off  in  the  hills  west  of  Butte, 
three  or  four  miles  beyond  Galena  Gulch.  I  went  out 
with  him  once,  and  it's  amazin'  how  much  stuff  he's  lugged 
up  there  to  make  it  comfortable.  'Eagle's  Nest/  he  calls 
it. — Nice  place  to  take  a  girl  to,  I  don't  think!  It's  God- 
forsaken, and,  Great  Jehoshaphat,  as  lonely  as  I'd  be  in 
heaven  with  a  harp.  I  wonder  if  Claypoole  did  coax 
that  kid  up  there!  He  always  struck  me  as  the  soul 
of  honor.  But  you  can't  tell  by  the  looks  of  a  toad  how 
far  he'll  leap.  Why,  you're  not  going  to  hit  the  feathers 
so  soon !  The  night's  young  yet." 

"I  think  I'll  go  write  some  letters,"  returned  Blake, 
"and  then  I'll  turn  in.  Thanks  for  a  pleasant  half- 
hour,  Carraby." 


224    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Racked  with  bitter  meditations  and  unable  to  sleep, 
Stephen  Claypoole  lived  through  his  last  night  at  the 
"Eagle's  Nest." 

Three  of  the  hours  of  the  day  that  would  find  him  no 
longer  in  Montana  had  passed.  As  the  clock  struck,  he 
arose  and  prowled  out  into  the  living  room.  There  he 
stood  with  his  ear  against  Patricia's  door.  All  was  quiet 
within.  He  hoped  passionately  that  the  poor  child  was 
asleep.  He  went  to  the  grate,  where  a  smoldering  log 
rested  on  the  andirons.  Ming  had  banked  the  fire  for  the 
night.  Tired  to  his  bones  with  self-condemnation,  he 
leaned  against  the  mantel.  He  would  be  glad  to  get  away 
from  Montana.  The  house  he  had  grown  to  love  because 
of  its  solitude  was  now  repulsive.  It  always  would  be 
repulsive — after  last  night. 

Then  a  sound  from  the  outside  brought  him  suddenly 
erect.  It  was  foreign  to  the  mountain  noises,  suspi- 
ciously like  a  human  being.  But  no  one  ever  came  to  the 
"Eagle's  Nest"  at  this  time  of  night,  not  even  the  China- 
men who  now  and  then  visited  Ming.  Yet,  he  was  sure  he 
had  heard  footsteps. 

On  his  way  toward  the  door  there  came  a  rap  upon  it, 
a  smartly  incisive  rap  that  did  not  accord  with  the  dif- 
fident nature  of  the  Mongolians.  He  unlocked  the  door 
and  threw  it  open. 

"Hello,"  he  called,  "who's  there?" 

"Me,"  answered  a  voice,  and  Edward  Blake  loomed 
forth  out  of  the  night. 

Claypoole  was  the  first  to  recover  himself  from  the 
shock  of  the  meeting.  However,  he  made  no  pretense  of 
welcome,  but  the  other,  insensible  to  any  discourtesy, 
crossed  the  threshold  at  one  stride. 

"For  the  love  of  God,  Blake,  where'd  you  come  from!" 
exclaimed  Stephen. 

His  facial  muscles  working  like  threads,  Edward  Blake 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    225 

closed  the  door.  Coming  unexpectedly  upon  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  instead  of  the  man  he  sought  aggravated  his 
already  inflamed  temper. 

"Where's  Stephen  Claypoole?"  scraped  from  his  throat. 

"Here,"  retorted  Stephen,  stiffening.  "What  do  you 
want  of  me?" 

Austere  accusation  drew  Blake's  body  to  its  fullest 
height.  His  blazing  eyes  indicted  his  host  a  liar. 

"You're  Patrick  O'Kelleron,"  he  responded  trenchantly. 

"I'm  Stephen  Claypoole,  also,"  was  the  icy  answer. 

Ire  was  rising  by  the  minute  in  Claypoole's  breast.  He 
had  never  cared  for  Alderman  Blake,  even  when  their 
profession  and  club  life  had  brought  them  together  in 
New  York.  Now  he  resented  his  intrusion  and  bellig- 
erent attitude  with  haughtiness. 

"I  say  it  again,"  he  asserted,  "I  am  Stephen  Clay- 
poole." 

For  the  fact  to  seep  through  Blake's  fuddled  brain 
took  a  full  half-minute.  At  first  he  was  impressed  with 
the  idea  that  O'Kelleron  was  shielding  Claypoole  for 
some  reason  or  other.  But,  groggy  as  he  was,  he  remem- 
bered Patrick's  reputation  in  New  York  for  veracity,  and, 
as  he  stared  into  the  scintillant  brown  eyes  and  took  note 
of  the  mighty  man  with  his  red  head  thrown  back  im- 
periously, he  realized  like  a  flash,  that  he  had  heard  the 
truth. 

"Then — then,  if  you  are,  what  did  you  do  to — to 
Patricia  Pepperday?"  he  rasped. 

Astonishment  wiped  the  critical  frown  from  Claypoole's 
brow. 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  acquaintance  with  the  young 
lady,"  he  replied  promptly.  "To  my  knowledge  I've 
never  seen  her." 

"You  lie! "  burst  from  Blake,  bitterly  vehement. 

Stephen's  fists  clenched,  but  almost  immediately  they 


226    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

relaxed.  His  sane  mind  was  conscious  that  he  was  deal- 
ing with  a  man,  crazed  by  alcohol.  That  being  so,  he 
would  not  attack  him,  if  it  could  be  avoided. 

"I  rather  think,  Blake,  that  you've  quite  lost  control  of 
yourself,"  he  announced  coldly.  "I'd  advise  you  not  to 
repeat  what  you  just  said.  I've  told  you  I  don't  know 
Miss  Pepperday — if  you  mean  Michael  Pepperday's 
sister." 

"Yes!  She's  just  the  one — I — do  mean,"  said  Blake 
disjointedly.  "Mike  Pepperday's  sister,  Patricia  Pepper- 
day!  If  you're  Claypoole,  I  tell  you  again  you  lie  when 
you  say  you  don't  know  her.  I  saw  her  in  Butte  but  a 
few  hours  ago,  and  a  man  told  me — " 

With  the  velocity  of  light  hideous  thoughts  swept 
across  Stephen.  Sweat  ran  from  every  pore  in  his  body. 
Then  he  banished  the  ugly  suggestion.  His  Patricia  was 
not  in  Butte.  The  picture  of  her  dear  face  shrouded  by 
dark  curls,  quieted  him  a  little.  She  was  asleep,  asleep 
in  her  own  bed  and  should  not  be  aroused.  Advancing 
a  step,  he  flung  out  a  hand  toward  a  chair. 

"Sit  down,  Ed,"  he  urged  in  a  low  voice,  "and  please 
don't  be  quite  so  noisy." 

"I  don't  want  to  sit  down,"  muttered  Blake. 

The  frown  came  back  to  Claypoole 's  brow,  even  more 
pronounced. 

"Stand,  then!  It  makes  no  difference  to  me,"  he 
rejoined,  "but  you  must  listen  quietly  to  what  I'm  going 
to  say.  I  can't  help  what  a  man  told  you  in  Butte.  I 
don't  know  Miss  Pepperday.  I've  never  known  but  one 
Patricia,  and  she  was  Patricia  Rushmore." 

With  difficulty  Blake  followed  the  statement  through. 
After  his  long  walk  in  the  biting  wind,  the  heat  of  the 
room  was  nauseating,  and  he  found  it  hard  to  keep  his 
equilibrium.  But  Stephen's  voice  had  softened  on  utter- 
ing his  wife's  name,  and  for  an  instant  the  speaking  of  it 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     227 

seemed  to  make  no  impression  on  his  listener.  Then  an 
oath  slithered  through  his  teeth. 

"Patricia  Rushmore!  Patricia  Rushmore  is  Patricia 
Pepperday!  She's  Michael  Pepperday's  sister! — You 
damned  devil,  you  weren't  satisfied  in  hounding  her 
brother  to  prison,  but  you  had  to  ruin  her!  I  tell  you, 
when  I  saw  her  in  Butte  to-night,  she  was  almost  dead." 

Like  a  twelve-inch  shell  out  of  a  peaceful  sky,  the  ex- 
planation of  the  past  few  weeks  crashed  through  Patrick 
O'Kelleron's  brain.  His  drivelling  accuser  faded  from  his 
sight.  That  day  in  Idaho  Falls,  when  he  had  told  her 
that  he  was  Patrick  O'Kelleron!  His  accursed  con- 
ceit— his  stupidity!  Blake  was  still  howling  at  him. 
He  heard  curses  but  gave  them  no  heed. 

He  strode  to  Patricia's  chamber  and  pounded  on  the 
door  with  his  fists.  He  grasped  the  knob  and  twisted  it 
and,  discovering  that  the  door  was  locked,  rattled  it 
violently.  All  the  time  he  was  entreating  her  to  let  him 
in  without  delay.  He  spoke  Michael's  name  with  strong 
persuasion.  But  nothing  save  the  moaning  of  the 
mountain  wind  came  to  his  ear  when  he  placed  it  to  the 
keyhole. 

Straightening  up,  his  great  muscles  knotted  for  a 
spring.  His  shoulder  crashed  against  the  door  panels  with 
such  force  that  the  lock  broke  completely  off  and  fell  to 
the  floor. 

When  he  stumbled  headlong  into  the  room,  Edward 
Blake  leaped  after  him.  A  violent  gale  blew  past  them, 
bellying  the  lace  curtains  back  from  the  open  window. 
The  momentum  of  his  speed  landed  Stephen  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  bed.  He  stared  at  it  and  brushed  his 
hands  across  his  eyes  as  if  he  doubted  them. 

She  was  gone!     She  was  gone! 

"Patricia,"  he  stammered.  "She's  left  me!  Patricia — 
my  wife — "  He  hesitated,  gazing  at  Blake  as  if  he  were 


228    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

a  stranger.  Then,  "Get  out  of  my  way,"  he  cried.  "I'm 
going  to  Butte  after  my  wife." 

Somewhat  sobered  by  the  electrifying  turn  of  events, 
Blake  stared  ominously  at  the  man  staggering  toward 
him. 

"Just  stand  where  you  are,  O'Kelleron,"  he  ejaculated. 
"You've  finished  with  the  Pepperdays,  damn  you !  Take 
that!" 

The  report  of  a  revolver  spat  through  the  room,  and 
Stephen  Claypoole  went  down  like  an  ox  hit  by  a  sledge 
hammer. 

The  conquest  of  his  enemy  had  been  so  easy  that 
Edward  Blake  tottered  forward  on  his  toes,  only  to  re- 
coil on  to  his  heels,  his  head  reeling.  Then,  gripping  his 
revolver,  he  took  several  steps  backward  in  the  direction 
of  the  door.  Now,  he  would  go.  He  could  not  get  away 
quickly  enough.  He  had  come  to  kill  Stephen  Claypoole, 
and  he  had  done  it!  He  had  killed  Patricia's  husband, 
too.  Thank  God  for  that! 

At  the  threshold  he  swung  around  dizzily.  This  action 
brought  him  face  to  face  with  another  obstacle.  There 
in  his  path  stood  Ming,  like  an  ill-omened  bird,  his  eyes 
glittering  dark  between  narrowed  lids.  The  Asiatic  and 
the  American  glared  at  each  other  for  the  fractional  part 
of  a  minute.  Then  the  Chinaman's  head  shot  out,  and  his 
mouth  spread  wide  in  a  snarl.  There  came  to  Blake  the 
withering  thought  that  a  witness  to  his  crime  existed,  a 
threatening  witness,  who  seemed  ready  to  jump  upon  him 
like  a  wiry  animal.  Convulsive  shudders  ran  through 
him.  In  sequence  the  horrors  that  follow  on  the  trail 
of  homicide  passed  through  his  mind.  His  intelligence 
was  not  so  far  befogged  in  drink  that  he  did  not 
remember  the  relentless  qualities  of  the  law.  That  the 
State  was  no  respecter  of  persons  spiked  him  through 
like  a  spear.  He  could  hear  Ming's  feet  making  a  per- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    229 

ceptible  tip-tap  on  the  floor  as  he  lifted  first  one  and  then 
the  other.  He  saw  the  fellow's  thin  lips  moving  but 
heard  no  sound. 

"Devil  man,"  finally  burst  from  Ming's  throat. 

The  sound  of  the  hoarse  croak  lent  strength  to  Blake's 
sense  of  self -protection. 

With  a  slow,  deadly  gesture  he  raised  his  arm  and  in 
quick  succession  worked  the  trigger  of  his  gun. 

For  an  infinitesimal  space  of  time  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  heavens  had  been  rent  asunder  and  were  vomiting 
down  their  burning  fury.  Of  a  sudden  something  leaped 
upon  him,  and  his  wits  were  gone. 


230    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

MOST  of  the  citizens  of  Butte  were  asleep  when  the 
night  train  snorted  out  of  the  Butte  station  to  continue  its 
journey  east.  Indifferent  to  what  was  going  on  around 
her,  Patricia  followed  the  porter  to  her  compartment, 
and  for  a  long  time  after  getting  into  her  berth,  she  stared, 
wide-eyed,  into  the  darkness.  At  last  she  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep,  oblivious  to  the  world  and  its  necessities. 

Not  until  she  reached  St.  Paul,  did  she  arouse  herself 
enough  to  consider  her  serious  situation.  The  days  and 
nights  which  had  elapsed  since  she  had  left  Montana  re- 
ceived hardly  intelligent  attention.  They  seemed  but  a 
blank  period  of  time,  checkered,  here  and  there,  with 
spaces  of  consciousness,  during  which  she  partook  of  the 
food  that  was  offered  by  kindly  train  attendants. 

With  the  returning  of  bodily  strength  she  was  tormented 
by  unanswerable  questions  which,  like  sentient  voices, 
repeated  themselves  many  times  over.  What  had 
Stephen  done  when  he  had  found  her  gone?  Was  he  glad 
to  be  rid  of  her?  Would  he  soon  forget  her?  As  this 
last  query  ran  through  her  mind  forebodingly  and  would 
not  be  banished,  she  wept  into  her  pillow.  Long,  lonely, 
withered  years  stretched  out  before  her  like  an  untrodden 
road,  ambushed  with  seraphic  memories  that  would  only 
make  the  blind  trail  the  more  difficult  to  tread.  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  had  been  the  crafty  builder  of  an  artful 
barrier  between  herself  and  her  husband. 

Then,  again  and  again,  she  ploughed  through  the  dread- 
ful dream  in  which  she  had  nearly  used  her  slender- 
bladed  knife  in  retribution.  Oh,  that  hateful  sleep  that 
had  betrayed  her  into  the  snuggery. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     231 

The  train  was  speeding  through  the  environs  of  Chicago, 
prior  to  her  first  change  of  cars.  At  that,  she  had  nearly 
fifteen  minutes  of  the  journey  to  go  when  at  length, 
coated  and  hatted,  she  dropped  into  a  seat  to  wait. 

The  door  of  her  compartment  was  slightly  ajar,  and, 
without  asking  permission,  a  blue-capped  boy  poked  his 
head  inside. 

"What  paper,  lady?     What  paper?"  he  squawked. 

Aimlessly  she  took  from  her  pocketbook  a  few  cents, 
but  not  because  she  wished  to  scan  the  news  items.  It 
was  simpler  to  buy  than  refuse  to  purchase.  After  the 
youth  had  vanished  with  his  wares,  the  newspaper  lay 
on  her  lap,  unheeded,  for  some  time. 

By  chance  her  restless  eyes  caught  the  name, 
"O'Kelleron,"  staring  up  from  a  black  headline,  occupying 
conspicuously  a  large  space  at  the  top  of  the  paper. 

Her  lips  shaped  "O'Kelleron,"  but  not  her  voice.  That 
detestable  word  was  too  familiar,  too  much  a  part  of  her 
present  agony,  to  be  passed  over  by  a  mere  glance. 

Then  she  read,  "Patrick  O'Kelleron,  a  New  York 
lawyer,  killed  in  the  Rocky  Mountains!" 

Stiffening  rigidly,  she  read  it  again  as  she  muttered 
aloud  with  rising  incredulity,  "Killed — in  the  Rocky 
mountains!" 

So  used  was  she  to  attesting,  "Stephen  is  Patrick 
O'Kelleron,"  that  she  spoke  the  phrase  almost  as  if  it 
were  a  formula. 

"Stephen  is  my  husband,  my  beloved."  Then  she 
added,  "If  Patrick  O'Kelleron  is  dead—" 

The  meaning  of  the  words  almost  struck  her  dumb. 
Why,  that  word  was  not  killed!  It  could  not  be!  Such 
a  calamity  was  not  to  be  considered.  It  had  been  her 
hatred  for  Patrick  O'Kelleron  that  had  made  her  mis- 
read. She  did  not  look  again  at  the  paper,  as  she  told 
herself  that  the  sentence  must  have  been,  "Patrick 


232     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

O'Kelleron,  a  New  York  lawyer,  lived  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains!"  Ah,  then  his  newspaper  friends  had 
located  him  at  last,  for,  of  course,  it  was  impossible  that 
such  a  man  could  remain  incognito  forever.  This  thought 
loosened  her  taut  muscles  a  little.  Stephen  was  alive  in 
the  "Eagle's  Nest."  Perhaps,  her  flight  had  decided  him 
to  assume  his  rightful  name.  She  dared  a  glance  at  the 
paper. 

"K-I-L-L-E-D,"  she  spelled. 

It  was  "killed ! "     Not— not  "lived ! " 

Then  a  massive  red  head,  a  countenance  beautiful  in 
feature  and  gracious  sympathy,  rendered  illegible  the 
Chicago  Journal.  Her  eyes  closed  in  a  spasm  of  tremb- 
ling. And  even  through  her  closed  lids  she  saw  Stephen's 
smiling  brown  gaze  and  behind  his  lips  his  even  white 
teeth. 

"Stephen  is  Patrick  O'Kelleron,"  she  said,  and  with 
that  she  toppled  forward,  senseless. 

"This  ain't  Patrick  nor  Stephen,  neither,"  a  voice 
filtered  through  to  her  senses,  a  few  minutes  later.  "I's 
George  Washington,  the  porter.  Gee!  But  you  was 
sure  some  sick,  ma'am!" 

It  might  have  been  thirty  minutes  later — perhaps  more, 
perhaps  less — that  Patricia  stood  alone  in  a  room  in  the 
Auditorium  Annex,  nor  did  she  move  for  a  long  time  after 
the  bellboy  had  closed  the  door. 

One  trembling  hand  went  to  her  brow  and  brushed 
back  the  curls,  still  damp,  from  her  white  face. 

"My  Stephen,  my  husband,  is  alive  in  Butte,"  her 
blue  lips  spoke  aloud.  "My  husband  is  not  dead." 

Then  she  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  opened  her  bag. 
Taking  out  the  newspaper  which  had  been  thrust  un- 
tidily in  on  top,  she  spread  it  out  on  her  lap. 

"Patrick  O'Kelleron,  a  New  York  lawyer,  killed  in 
the  Rocky  Mountains!"  she  read. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     233 

"A  strange  explosion  occurred  west  of  Butte  early 
Friday  morning,  and  Patrick  O'Kelleron  was  killed.  A 
Chinese  domestic  was  also  killed  in  the  same  accident. 
It  was  learned  from  Mr.  O'Kelleron's  banker  that,  under 
the  nom-de-plume  of  'Stephen  Claypoole,'  he  had  been 
spending  some  time  in  Butte,  studying  locality  with  an 
eye  to  writing  a  north-western  story." 

The  paper  crackled  in  Patricia's  fingers. 

"This — is — a  lie,"  she  said  with  mechanical  precision. 
But  even  as  her  lips  spoke,  her  reason  shouted  that 
Stephen  was  dead.  In  fascinated  horror  she  managed 
to  decipher  the  rest  of  the  article. 

"The  real  facts  of  the  tragedy  have  been  cleared  up 
somewhat.  A  reporter  from  a  Butte  newspaper  dis- 
covered that  the  servant  who  had  charge  of  Mr. 
O'Kelleron's  home  had  been  in  the  habit  of  purchasing 
dynamite  for  his  mining  countrymen.  Experts  found 
quantities  of  the  explosive  near  the  spot  where  the  house 
had  stood. 

"The  young  attorney  was  unmarried  and  possessed 
great  wealth.  His  body  was  burned  beyond  recognition, 
but  his  enormous  stature  established  his  identity  beyond 
doubt.  His  remains  will  be  shipped  home  immediately  to 
his  mother,  Mrs.  Alexander  Clark  of  New  York  City." 

As  quiet  as  if  all  sense  of  life  had  been  suspended, 
Patricia  stared  dazedly  ahead,  but  her  eyes  might  have 
been  bandaged  for  aught  she  saw.  To  the  room  she  was 
in  and  its  four  walls  she  was  oblivious.  She  was  stunned 
to  blindness,  to  deafness,  her  mind  groping  for  the  facts 
that  had  struck  from  her  the  power  to  think.  It  might 
have  been  seconds  or  even  minutes  that  she  sat  with  that 
herald  of  death  in  her  lap. 

At  length  four  words  fell  from  her  lips. 

"My — husband  is  dead ! " 

The  sound  of  her  own  voice,  uttering  a  sentence  so  full 


234    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

of  dire  meaning,  sent  her  cringing  back.  All  of  her  own 
unspeakable  thoughts  against  Patrick  O'Kelleron  wrapped 
her  again  in  blankets  of  ice. 

The  period  that  followed  was  not  to  be  compared  to  any 
past  time  in  all  her  life.  Other  suffering  sank  into  insigni- 
ficance, contrasted  with  the  exquisite  agony  of  this. 

After  hours  and  hours  had  passed  during  which  she 
relived  in  fiery  self-accusation  the  short  weeks  since  she 
had  been  married  to  Stephen  Claypoole,  she  dragged 
herself  up,  only  to  pace  the  room  back  and  forth.  The 
night  life  of  Chicago  dissolved  into  intermittent  sounds, 
and  still  she  walked,  memories,  double-edged,  propping 
her  eyes  so  widely  open  that  it  seemed  she  had  no  lids  at 
all  to  cover  her  aching  pupils. 

The  winter  dawn  had  lost  its  youth  in  a  gray  day  when, 
completely  exhausted,  she  began  to  undress.  While  un- 
packing her  bag,  she  came  across  a  sealed  envelope. 
She  had  never  seen  it  before.  Turning  it  over  to  the  in- 
scription side,  she  saw  written  in  Stephen's  large,  bold 
handwriting: 

"Patrick  Claypoole  O'Kelleron 

Last  Will  and  Testament 

Marriage  Certificate." 

A  nausea  came  with  the  knowledge  that  Stephen  had 
secreted  his  will  among  her  possessions  and  that,  when  he 
had  made  it,  he  was  thinking  of  the  time  after  his  death. 
She  dropped  the  envelope  as  if  it  had  burned  her  fingers. 
Nothing  material  mattered  now! 

For  almost  two  weeks  she  stayed  alone,  far  above  the 
busy  streets,  seemingly  dead  to  any  initiative,  eating 
irregularly,  and  sleeping  only  when  she  could  not  keep 
awake. 

The  sharp  sense  of  utter  desolation  gradually  subsided 
into  a  kind  of  dull  apathy.  Spasmodically  she  endeav- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     235 

ored  to  stir  the  dying  embers  of  hate  and  find  satisfaction 
in  the  thought  that,  at  least,  Patrick  O'Kelleron  had  paid 
his  debt  to  the  Pater,  but  every  such  effort  succeeded 
merely  in  exposing  more  mercilessly  how  cruel  had  been 
her  conduct  in  Montana. 

Not  in  self-justification,  did  she  reiterate: 

"I  was  sick — crazy — out  there  at  the  'Eagle's  Nest/ 
and  I  blamed  it  on  the  Pater,  my  beautiful  father,  who 
only  wished  happiness  to  every  one  in  the  world.  Oh,  I 
never  once  tried  to  think  of  anything  but  how  I  hated 
Patrick!  But  in  my  heart  I  didn't— I  didn't!" 

The  keen  edge  of  the  pain  she  endured  cut  away  the 
husk  of  selfishness.  Martin  Brewer's  words  came  to  her, 
"Don't  do  it,  sweet,  don't  do  it!  Hating  another  fellow 
only  brings  bad  to  yourself." 

By  degrees,  so  minute  she  was  hardly  aware  any  change 
was  taking  place,  sorrow  performed  its  sweet  and  salu- 
tary office  by  cleansing  her  heart  of  her  hatred  of  Patrick 
O'Kelleron.  Little  by  little  she  dared  to  crawl  out  of  the 
purgatory  which  she  judged  herself  only  fit  to  inhabit. 

Ultimately  she  realized  that  love  had  conquered  her 
demoniacal  spirit.  Tears  of  thanksgiving  wiped  away  that 
tenacious  thought  that  Patrick  O'Kelleron  had  any  debt 
to  pay  the  dead  Pater.  That  triad  of  men,  built  into  her 
imagination  through  her  own  wicked  desires,  split  asunder 
and  left  Patrick  a  compelling,  undying  reality  in  her  mind, 
as  he  had  been  in  Blackberry  Lane,  as  he  had  been  in 
Butte  before  their  marriage.  It  was  in  that  moment  that 
the  two  entities  that  had  once  possessed  her,  the  one  for 
good,  the  other  for  evil,  were  transformed  into  her  giant, 
idolized  husband,  complete  from  his  red  hair  to  the  soles 
of  his  feet. 

And  thus  her  destroying  hatred  fell  from  her  like  a 
worm-eaten  garment. 

Not   long   after    Michael    came    into    her    mind   as 


236    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

a  vital  reality,  and  blind  Yum-yum  and  Barney  took  their 
places  in  her  thoughts.  She  had  to  live  for  the  home 
folks.  The  youth  in  her  spoke  with  insistence.  She  must 
live!  Stephen,  her  husband,  her  beloved,  was  gone!  She 
would  have  bartered  her  eternal  salvation  to  bring  him 
back  if  it  had  been  possible;  but  he  was  dead. 

So  closed  that  chapter  of  Patricia's  life;  and  she  buried 
its  hallowed  and  unhallowed  pages  deep  within  her  soul. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     237 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

"BRIDGEPORT,  CONN.,  Sunday. 

"Dear  Mr.  Brewer"  began  a  letter  which  Martin 
opened  one  morning. 

"My  small  son  is  now  two  weeks  old,  and  for  me  to  say 
that  he  is  beautiful  sounds  conceited,  I  know.  But 
everybody  who  has  seen  him  says  he  is  very  remarkable 
for  a  child  so  young.  Mother  loves  him  dearly,  but  I'm 
sure  that  isn't  the  reason  she  thinks  he  is  so  smart.  I 
wish  you  could  see  her  rocking  him  now.  She  looks  like 
an  angel.  She  is  one,  too.  You  remember  what  you  said 
about  mothers?  I  always  think  of  it  when  she's  tending 
baby. 

"This  letter  has  a  threefold  mission,  dear  Mr.  Brewer. 
First,  to  thank  you  again  for  what  you  did  for  me;  next, 
to  ask  you  if  you  know  where  Mr.  Blake  is.  He  never 
writes  me,  although  the  money  comes  regularly  from  his 
banker,  but  I'd  like  him  to  know  about  the  baby.  If 
you  see  him,  please  tell  him. 

"I  thought  at  first  I  would  call  my  little  boy,  'Edward,' 
but  I've  changed  my  mind.  May  I  name  him  after  you? 

"Cordially  and  gratefully  yours, 

"FLOSSIE  BAKER  BLAKE. 

"P.  S.  I  meant  to  tell  you  that  the.  baby's  gums  are 
quite  swollen.  Mother  says  he  might  be  getting  a  tooth. 
I  wouldn't  consider  it  possible,  if  he  weren't  so  unusual 
in  every  way.  I  think  'Martin  Brewer  Blake'  a  lovely 
name  for  him,  don't  you? 

"FLOSSIE." 


238    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Martin's  spirits  were  uplifted  for  a  moment  by  a  hearty 
laugh  at  this  effusion.  Flossie  was  a  typical  mother, 
bless  her  heart.  How  often  he  had  heard  the  same  old 
story,  the  wonders  of  a  new-born  babe.  Well,  he  loved 
to  hear  it;  if  he  did  not,  there  was  something  wrong  with 
the  mother. 

After  assuring  himself  that  he  was  effectually  rid  of 
William  Foster,  Martin  had  resumed  his  writing  with 
his  usual  facility.  Although  he  had  received  several 
humble,  apologetic  letters  from  that  young  man,  each  one 
begging  for  another  chance,  he  gave  them  no  heed  what- 
ever, save  to  stow  them  away  in  his  safe. 

Patrick  O'Kelleron's  premature  death  had  shocked  him, 
and  he  had  been  sorely  touched  at  the  young  lawyer's 
funeral  by  Nancy's  pitiful  grief.  In  personal  sorrow  for 
his  dead  friend  he  had  come  away  from  the  O'Kelleron 
vault  with  a  keen  sense  of  the  frailty  of  life. 

Always  active,  his  anxiety  about  Benny  had  lately 
become  acute.  Doctor  Percy  Blair  had  decided  that  the 
boy  was  strong  enough  to  undergo  an  operation,  but  Benny 
stubbornly  refused  to  hear  of  it  while  Patricia  was  absent 
from  New  York. 

A  deeper  sadness  fell  across  Martin's  countenance. 

In  his  mail  that  morning  he  had  received  a  note  from 
Patricia,  dated  at  Chicago.  She  was  coming  back  to  the 
city,  but  she  had  not  stated  the  day  of  her  arrival.  For 
some  time  he  sat  thinking.  Once  the  prospect  of  seeing 
her  would  have  thrilled  him  with  delight,  but  now  he 
turned  to  the  memory  of  Adelina  Pepperday  with  a  long- 
ing closely  akin  to  pain.  He  had  heard  about  her  fre- 
quently from  Benny  who  often  visited  at  Balmville.  So 
fearful  had  he  been  of  himself,  however,  that  he  had  not 
ventured  into  her  presence.  His  harrowed  soul  had 
prophesied  that,  if  he  did,  one  of  two  things  would  happen. 
Either  he  would  burst  out  that  Michael  was  innocent,  or  he 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     239 

would  instantly  ask  her  to  marry  him,  and  it  was  farthest 
from  his  sense  of  decency  to  ask  a  woman  to  share  a  name 
which  in  the  fall  would  in  all  probability  be  stained  with 
crime. 

Then  with  the  promptitude  that  was  always  his  upon 
making  a  decision,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  coat  and  went 
out.  At  a  nearby  telegraph  office  he  wrote  and  sent  this 
message  to  Flossie  Blake : 

"Congratulations  on  the  boy!  God  love  him!  God 
bless  him!  God  save  him!  Eddie  is  out  of  town,  and 
no  one  in  his  office  knows  his  whereabouts,  but  I  left  your 
message  with  his  secretary.  Name  the  youngster,  'Patrick 
O'Kelleron  Blake.'  Here's  hoping  he  will  grow  up  to 
be  as  good  a  man  as  he  is  named  after.  Then  you 
will  have  a  great  reason  to  be  a  happy  mother. 

"MARTIN  BREWER." 

Blue  devils,  bluer  and  more  devilish  than  ordinary, 
were  in  possession  of  Benny  Brewer  upon  his  father's 
arrival  at  the  studio.  He  was  nursing  his  old  grievance. 
If  he  could  not  have  Patricia  Pepperday,  he  refused  to 
be  happy  himself,  or  let  any  one  be  happy  around  him. 

"Hello,  Ben!  How  are  you,  old  man?"  was  Martin's 
greeting,  as  he  threw  aside  his  hat  and  sat  down. 

"Hello,  Fan,"  squawked  George  from  his  perch  on  the 
boy's  shoulder.  "Is  breakfast  ready,  Ma?" 

"I  feel  rotten,"  muttered  Benny,  shoving  the  parrot 
away  impatiently.  "I  hate  being  by  myself  all  the  time. 
Fancy  Cavendish  promised  she'd  be  here  early,  and  she 
hasn't  even  telephoned.  I'd  rather  have  her  than  be 
alone.  But  nobody  keeps  a  promise  to  me,  somehow." 

"Aw,  Ben,"  shrieked  the  parrot.  "George's  a  damned 
pretty  boy."  Then  he  settled  on  the  arm  of  Martin's 
chair  and  went  to  sleep. 


240    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Martin  disregarded  his  son's  complaint.  His  sym- 
pathies had  run  deeper  of  late  for  his  afflicted  child,  and 
he  was  not  inclined  to  chide  him  for  his  pessimism. 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Paddy  Pepperday  this  morning, 
Ben,"  he  announced  after  a  short  silence.  "I  ran  up  to 
tell  you  about  it." 

"Let  me  see  it,"  interjected  Benny.  "I  haven't  had 
a  word  from  her  in  weeks.  I  was  thinking  of  her  when 
you  came  in." 

After  a  fruitless  search  in  his  pockets,  Martin  shook 
his  head. 

"I  must  have  left  it  in  the  office,"  he  explained,  "but 
I  can  tell  you  what's  in  it.  She's  coming  to  New  York ! 
I  imagine,  very  soon." 

"Glory!"  cried  Benny.  'Now,  I'm  glad  you  came  up, 
dad,  and  honestly  I  don't  mean  to  be  so  grouchy  and 
horrid  all  the  time."  He  bent  forward  eagerly.  "What 
did  Lady  Pat  say?" 

To  be  the  bearer  of  unpleasant  news  to  any  one  was 
especially  repugnant  to  Martin;  much  more  difficult  it 
was,  though,  when  that  person  happened  to  be  his  son. 

"You  mustn't  be  shocked  at  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you," 
he  began  presently.  "But  the  fact  is,  that  Patricia  mar- 
ried Patrick  O'Kelleron  out  west  somewhere." 

Doubt  was  in  Benny's  eyes,  and  one  set  of  fingers 
went  to  his  brow  and  traveled  across  it. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said  deliberately.  "Why,  she 
detested  O'Kelleron  so  she  couldn't  stand  to  hear  his 
name.  One  day  while  I  was  in  Balmville  when  she  was 
getting  well,  I  spoke  of  him,  and  she  nearly  had  a  fit. 
She  said  he  ought  to  be  electrocuted.  I  tell  you  she 
downright  hated  him." 

Succeeded  a  short  pause.    Then  Brewer  agreed: 

"I  know  she  did,  poor  girl!  She  insisted,  in  spite  of 
everything  I  could  say,  that  Pat  was  unjust  at  Michael's 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     241 

trial,  and  that  he  was  personally  responsible  for  her 
father's  death." 

Benny  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  his  hand. 

"Never  mind  that,"  he  protested,  "what  else  was  in 
her  letter?" 

"Nothing  much!" 

A  painful  silence  fell. 

"But  O'Kelleron's  dead,  even  if  she  did  marry  him," 
Benny  observed  finally  in  a  low  voice.  "He  is  dead, — 
isn't  he?  You're  sure  of  that?" 

"Yes,  certainly!  And  I  don't  know  the  particulars 
of  her  marriage,  only  the  bare  fact.  Her  letter  was  rather 
incoherent,  and  I  gathered  she  has  been  ill.  However, 
we'll  soon  find  out,  I  suppose." 

He  watched  his  son  as  he  talked.  He  would  have  given 
half  his  fortune  to  know  what  was  going  on  behind  those 
glowing  eyes. 

"She's  a  widow  then,"  Benny  ejaculated,  his  cheeks 
flaming.  "It  seems  strange,  dad,  to  think,  of  Paddy 
being  anybody's  widow  but  mine.  Somehow,  I  don't 
believe  it." 

Martin's  heart  yearned  to  comfort  him.  Recently  he 
had  felt  as  if  Benny  had  barricaded  himself  behind  an 
impenetrable  hedge.  To-day  he  had  come  to  root  it  up 
if  possible.  He  was  willing  to  do  anything  to  obtain  the 
boy's  confidence.  He  knew,  without  being  told,  that 
much  of  his  broken  spirit  came  from  grieving  over 
Patricia.  He  had  expected  a  tirade  of  abuse  and  tears 
at  his  remarkable  announcement,  but  nothing  of  the  kind 
came!  Benny  was  sitting  in  quiet  cogitation,  looking  at 
the  floor.  After  a  time,  he  raised  his  head. 

"Lots  of  fellows  marry  widows,  dad,"  he  exclaimed. 
"And  you  said  I  could  have  her.  You  did  say  so,  and 
you  can't  break  your  promise  to  me. — You  wouldn't! 
You  never  do! — I  don't  care  if  she  has  been  married;  I 


242     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

want  her.  If  you'll  do  what  you  said,  then  I'll  let 
Doctor  Blair  come.  You've  got  to  get  her  to  like  me! 
Oh,  you've  got  to!" 

He  sent  forth  the  words  much  as  if  he  were  suing  for 
something  that  money  could  buy. 

This  demand  Martin  had  foreseen,  but  he  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  how  to  meet  it.  It  was  true  he  had  made 
that  promise  in  the  heat  of  excitement.  Perhaps,  he  had 
counted  more  on  his  influence  over  Patricia  than  he  had 
had  any  right  to  do.  Yet,  as  Benny  had  said,  she  was  a 
widow  now.  She  had  had  her  fling,  so  to  speak,  and  she 
had  consistently  assured  him  that  she  liked  Benny — that 
she  pitied  him.  "Pity  is  akin  to  love!"  He  quoted  the 
the  old  adage  to  himself  and  wondered  whether  Patricia 
would  not  grow  to  be  fond  of  his  son  if  she  stood  by  him 
in  his  climb  to  health. 

However,  he  would  have  more  heart  to  hope  if  he  were 
sure  of  one  thing:  Had  Benny  killed  Fatty  Funny 
Breeches?  Was  the  soul  that  conceived  beautiful  har- 
monies stained  with  a  fellow  mortal's  death?  He  had  to 
know! 

"Ask  him!  Ask  him!  Make  him  tell  you!"  kept  up 
a  mental  fire  against  his  paternal  faith. 

As  of  yore  he  cast  aside  the  impulse. 

"But  it's  this  way,  kid!  We  don't  know  but  Patricia 
was  all-fired  fond  of  Patrick,  and  she  may  be  badly 
broken  up  over  his  death,  which  would  be  but  natural. 
Her  letter  plainly  stated  that  no  one  knew  she  had 
married  him,  not  even  Patrick's  mother.  I  imagine  that's 
a  fact,  too,  because  there  wasn't  a  hint  published  about 
it.  Before  I  can  say  much  to  you  or  do  anything,  I  must 
wait  until  she  gets  here.  You  can  see  that,  Ben!  Can't 
you?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  I  can,"  came  in  agreement.  "But  I've 
waited  so  long  already." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    243 

"Well,  if  you'll  take  my  advice,  child,"  Martin  in- 
sisted almost  sternly,  "you'll  wait  still  longer.  Your 
grandmother  used  to  say,  'Roses  grow  in  the  mouth  of 
patience!'  and  it's  the  Lord's  truth!  If  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  be  wigging  her  about  marriage  until — until — 
Doctor  Blair—" 

"I  won't  be  operated  on  till  Lady  Pat's  my  wife,"  inter- 
rupted Benny.  "I'm  afraid  I  wouldn't  get  well."  A 
shudder  ran  over  him.  "Paddy  will  teach  me  her  religion. 
She's  sweet  and  doesn't  lecture  a  fellow.  While  she 
didn't  promise  to  marry  me,  she  will,  I  feel  sure — if  you 
keep  at  her  about  it." 

Leaning  over,  Brewer  studied  the  frowning  young  face. 

"Her  letter  did  say  that  one  of  her  future  tasks  would 
be  to  dig  up  new  evidence  to  free  her  brother,  Michael." 
He  spoke  every  word  with  distinctness.  "She'll  undoubt- 
edly ask  me  to  help  her.  Is — is  there  any  reason,  Ben, 
why  I  shouldn't?" 

There!  To  answer  that  question,  even  if  he  persisted 
in  his  refusal  to  tell  what  happened  at  Cavendish's  that 
night,  Benny  would  have  to  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag. 
Either  Michael's  conviction  protected  him,  or  it  did  not. 
It  seemed  to  Martin  as  if  he  were  hanging  between  life 
and  death  during  that  nettling  silence.  If  his  heart 
pumped  any  faster,  the  blood  would  burst  through  his 
pulses. 

But  self-centered  Benny  was  not  thinking  of  Michael 
Pepperday.  He  had  but  one  object  in  view,  and  to  that 
he  clung  with  tenacity.  He  wanted  Michael's  sister  for 
his  wife,  and  he  intended  hectoring  his  father  until  his 
desire  was  granted. 

"I'd  rather  you'd  make  her  marry  me,"  he  replied, 
looking  down  at  his  twisting  fingers.  "She'll  be  glad 
when  she  sees  what  I've  done  for  Fancy.  The  kid  weighs 
pounds  more  than  she  did  when  Paddy  went  away,  and 


244    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

I've  taught  her  a  lot  of  things.  I  don't  see  what  you  can 
do  for  Mike,  save  to  get  a  pardon,  maybe.  Sometimes 
it  seems  you're  more  interested  in  everybody  else  than  you 
are  in  me." 

Then  swiftly  he  raised  his  dark  eyes. 

"Get  Paddy  to  marry  me  before  you  start  anything.  It 
would  make  me  horribly  nervous  with  a  mess  of  investi- 
gation going  on.  Wait  till  I'm  well.  Will  you  do  that, 
dad?" 

In  his  anxiety  the  father  read  into  his  son's  words  a 
meaning  so  dire  that  he  jumped  to  the  point  of  accusing 
him  then  and  there  of  Arthur  Brown's  murder.  But 
Benny  suddenly  sank  into  a  helpless,  sobbing  heap, 
and  the  burning  words  died  in  Brewer's  throat.  He 
would  have  to  wait  a  while  longer.  He  had  nothing  to 
go  on.  Perhaps,  when  Benny  was  well!  Good  God,  it 
had  been  nothing  but  a  continuous  "Perhaps"  for  months. 

"Listen  to  me,  son,"  he  urged,  putting  his  arms  around 
the  boy  and  lifting  him  up,  "and  remember  what 
I'm  going  to  tell  you.  Women  are  queer  in  their  likes  and 
dislikes;  men,  too,  for  that  matter.  You've  got  to  buck 
up  and  give  some  cheer  to  Lady  Pat  when  she  gets  home. 
It'll  help  you  if  you  keep  in  mind  that  I  can't  take  her  by 
the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  make  her  marry  you.  You 
must  realize  that  things  aren't  done  that  way  nowadays; 
even  if  we  wanted  to,  which  we  don't.  But  I  say  this 
much  now!  You  shall  see  her  as  often  as  I  can  manage  it, 
and,  for  heaven's  sake,  be  tender  and  kind.  Don't  cry — 
don't  fuss  at  her!  If  you  want  to  rag  any  one,  rag  me. 
Recollect  always  that  you  can  catch  more  flies  with 
molasses  than  you  can  with  vinegar." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     245 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ON  its  scheduled  minute  the  Twentieth  Century, 
Limited,  glided  into  the  Grand  Central  Station  with 
Patricia  among  its  passengers.  As  she  walked  through 
the  big  throng  alone,  a  dreary  weight  of  nostalgia  op- 
pressed her  spirits.  Several  times  she  ran  against  strangers 
and  had  to  pause  to  wipe  away  welling  tears.  So  many 
people  and  not  a  single  one  interested  in  her! 

Once  she  had  pictured  herself  coming  into  this  place, 
but  clinging  to  Stephen's  arm  in  happy  reliance  on  his 
strength.  How  could  she  do  anything  without  him?  It 
seemed  that  every  turn  she  took  she  must  come  upon 
him  and,  oh,  to  see  his  face  in  life  as  she  often  saw  it  in 
her  dreams! 

"Stephen  is  dead,"  her  reason  told  her  throbbing  heart, 
"and  you're  still  alive,  and  there's  lots  of  work  for  you 
to  do  yet." 

At  the  cab  stand  she  gave  the  address  of  a  small  hotel 
on  Forty-fourth  Street.  Then  she  climbed  into  the  taxi 
and  sank  back,  completely  fagged. 

She  could  count  on  her  fingers  the  number  of  blocks 
that  lay  between  her  and  Barney.  He  was  at  Caven- 
dish's and  by  this  time  had  received  her  telegram.  She 
caught  her  breath  and  in  a  long  sigh  expelled  it.  Before 
she  slept  that  night,  she  would  have  seen  him  and  Mrs. 
Clark,  too. 

One  of  the  first  things  she  did,  after  settling  herself  in 
her  room,  was  to  search  the  telephone  book  for  Alex- 
ander Clark's  address. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clark  are  at  O'Kelleron  Island  until 
next  fall,"  the  caretaker  told  her  over  the  wire. 


246    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

That  meant  she  would  be  compelled  to  travel  to  Port- 
chester  that  day.  She  remembered  that  Stephen  had 
mentioned  his  summer  home  on  the  sound,  but  she  could 
recall  very  little  of  his  description. 

According  to  the  calendar,  it  was  late  in  February, 
and  the  day  was  sour  and  cold,  when  she  alighted  from 
the  train  at  Portchester,  New  York.  A  clammy  mist, 
full  of  drizzle,  enveloped  everything  in  the  wet  obscurity 
of  the  late  afternoon. 

Now,  that  she  was  face  to  face  with  the  meeting  to 
which  she  had  looked  forward  since  she  had  left  the  windy 
city  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Michigan,  she  was  prompted 
to  return  to  New  York  without  seeing  Stephen's  mother. 
A  letter  might  be  as  effectual  as  a  personal  interview. 
To  overcome  this  temptation,  she  bolted  down  a  flight  of 
steps  to  a  line  of  waiting  taxis. 

During  the  drive  towards  the  sound,  she  soothed  her 
jumping  nerves  by  affirming  that,  however  Mrs.  Clark 
received  her,  she  was  doing  the  one  thing  of  which  she 
knew  Patrick  O'Kelleron  would  approve." 

"But  I  hope  she  will  be  kind,"  she  told  herself,  as 
the  taxi  pulled  up  at  the  mainland  end  of  a  footbridge. 

The  tide  was  rising,  and  the  slowly  incoming  water 
made  little  puddles  among  the  piles  that  supported  the 
bridge  above  the  black  mud  of  the  tide  flats.  Three 
islands  lay  side  by  side,  with  small  bridges  from  each  to 
the  longer  one  that  led  to  the  shore. 

"Which  is  O'Kelleron  Island?"  she  asked  the  driver. 

"That  one  there,  Miss!"  The  man  pointed  sound- 
ward  with  a  stubby  forefinger.  "Shall  I  wait?" 

"I  think  you'd  better,"  she  responded.  "I  can't  tell 
now  how  long  I'll  be  gone." 

With  bitter  tears  scalding  her  lids,  she  stood  looking 
at  Stephen's  home.  She  could  see  the  house  behind  the 
belt  of  trees,  its  roof  reared  far  above  the  highest 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     247 

branches.  The  chimneys,  too,  loomed  out  against  the 
gray  sky  like  squares  of  red  calico.  Retaining  walls  of 
solid  masonry  protected  the  island  from  the  waves  and 
presented  a  battlemented  face  to  the  outside  world. 

She  moved  forward  and  had  almost  set  her  foot  upon 
the  bridge  when  she  noted  a  man  crossing  it  in  her  direc- 
tion. Suddenly  she  recognized  in  the  tall,  blond  person, 
the  man  who  had  called  several  times  for  Millicent  Foster. 
Clark!  Stephen's  stepfather!  Never  by  the  greatest 
stretch  of  imagination,  had  she  connected  Milly's  admirer 
with  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  Undecided,  she  lingered  a 
moment,  then  she  stepped  back  and  waited  among  the 
several  people  loitering  about  the  place  until  Mr.  Clark 
had  passed  on  to  a  large  touring  car. 

"Drive  into  New  York  as  quickly  as  possible — to  the 
Hotel  Astor!"  Patricia  heard  him  say  to  the  chauffeur. 
Then  he  climbed  into  the  automobile,  and  with  its 
klaxon  blaring,  it  mounted  the  hill  and  was  gone. 

On  reaching  the  island,  Patricia  walked  along  the  broad 
cement  pavement  to  the  house.  It  was  a  formidable  place 
for  a  timid  girl  to  enter  on  an  errand  like  hers,  and  once 
more  she  was  disposed  to  run  away  as  fast  as  ever  her  legs 
could  carry  her.  However,  she  resisted  the  inclination 
and  rang  the  bell.  The  length  of  time  she  waited  on  the 
broad  piazza  she  did  not  particularly  notice.  The  steady 
tick-tock  of  the  falling  water  drops  only  deepened  her 
melancholy. 

Through  the  trees,  bared  by  the  winter  winds,  she  saw 
the  vast  expanse  of  Long  Island  Sound.  It  was  an  im- 
pressively dismal  scene.  The  clouds  had  lifted  somewhat, 
and  a  rising  breeze  was  dissipating  the  mists.  Only  here 
and  there  straggling  streamers  of  fog  clung  to  the 
sheltered  nooks  and  coves. 

After  a  while  a  vague  suspicion  that  Mrs.  Clark  was 
not  at  home  dawned  upon  her.  Had  she  made  her 


248    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

journey  to  Portchester  for  nothing?  Again  she  rang  the 
bell  and  heard  it  echo  back  plainly  from  a  distant  part 
of  the  house.  She  was  about  to  turn  away  reluctantly 
when  a  voice  above  her  cried  out  distinctly: 

"Paddy,  oh,  Paddy!" 

Some  one  had  called  her  name  twice!  She  flung  up 
her  head  and  stared  at  the  shuttered  windows.  Ague 
suddenly  seized  her.  Was  she  again  to  be  tormented  with 
hallucinations  as  she  had  been  in  Montana? 

Then,  "Oh,  Paddy,  Paddy! "  she  heard  again. 

Her  fingers  clutched  at  the  knob  and  twisted  it,  but  the 
door  refused  to  yield.  The  house  was  locked!  She 
paused  to  listen! 

Again  her  name  reached  her  as  she  sprang  to  a  window. 
But,  as  she  examined  one  after  another  she  was  con- 
fronted with  the  fact  that  they,  too,  were  securely 
fastened.  At  first  she  was  impelled  to  break  one  of  the 
glistening  panes.  Instead  she  ran  around  the  house,  where 
the  whole  place  presented  as  uninhabited  an  appearance  as 
had  the  front. 

In  response  to  her  frantic  jabs  on  the  push  button  at 
the  tradesmen's  entrance,  the  electric  bell  sent  back  to  her 
only  empty  jangles.  Then  she  pounded  on  the  door  loud 
enough  to  raise  the  dead.  It  was  only  when  she  noticed 
that  one  of  the  windows  was  open  behind  its  screen  that 
she  decided  all  in  a  minute  to  force  admittance  that  way, 
without  a  thought  of  what  any  one  might  think  if  she 
were  caught  scrambling  head-first  into  a  strange  house. 

With  a  sharp  stone  she  broke  the  wire  netting,  and  in 
another  instant  was  standing  in  the  center  of  an  orderly 
kitchen. 

The  third  door  she  opened  led  to  the  second  floor,  and 
she  tiptoed  up  the  stairs.  At  the  top  of  the  flight  she 
paused,  all  ears.  Then  she  stole  along  a  wide  hall,  with 
closed  doors  on  its  right  and  left. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     249 

To  a  small  degree  she  was  losing  the  panic  that  had 
accompanied  her  through  the  kitchen  window.  She  was 
near  the  front  staircase  when  a  loud  cry  issued  as  if  from 
nowhere,  followed  by  a  muffled  groan  and  then  silence. 

Patricia  remained  stock  still,  her  hand  on  her  pounding 
heart,  until  her  name,  "Paddy,  Paddy,"  repeated  in  loud 
demand,  sent  her  on  a  headlong  race  to  a  room  that  over- 
looked the  garden. 

As  if  it  were  a  substantial  thing,  a  wall  of  blackness 
met  her  as  she  pushed  open  the  door.  Only  by  closing 
the  shutters  and  pulling  down  the  blinds,  only  by  the 
exclusion  of  every  slightest  suggestion  of  light,  could  there 
have  been  obtained  such  an  impenetrable  obscurity. 

Breathlessly  she  dove  into  it,  an  almost  imperceptible 
shadow  crossing  the  threshold  from  the  dusk-illuminated 
hall.  Some  strangely  mysterious  noise  in  the  corner 
halted  her  abruptly. 

Then,  "Paddy  darling!" 

To  Patricia's  overstrained  nerves,  the  cracked,  childish 
treble  appeared  supernatural,  spectral,  like  two  words 
from  a  disembodied  voice,  a  voice  divorced  from  human 
agency. 

"Paddy — Paddy  darling!"  came  in  agonized  repetition. 

Swallowing  desperately,  Patricia  succeeded  in  dislodg- 
ing the  lump  in  her  throat. 

"What?"  she  whispered,  and  again  more  tensely, 
"What?" 

"My  God,  what's  happened  to  me?"  wafted  forth  to  the 
dumfounded  girl.  "You  can't  be  here,  Paddy!  You 
can't!  It  isn't  possible!  He  said  I  was  loony,  and  I 
am.  Paddy,  Paddy,  are  you  really  here?" 

For  a  moment  Patricia  dared  not  go  forward,  neither 
did  she  have  the  courage  to  depart. 

"Yes,  I'm  here,"  she  answered  in  a  weak  voice. 

"Ah,  then  I'm  glad,  Pat,"  was  the  relieved  response. 


250    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"It's  very  dark  and  cold,  isn't  it,  Paddy?  He — tied  me 
in  bed,  and  he  won't  let  me  have  any  light  or  fire.  Oh, 
what  a  wicked  man  he  is!  And  I'm  afraid,  so  afraid  of 
him!  Are  you  afraid,  too,  darling?" 

Sympathy  rose  from  among  the  tumultuous  feelings  in 
Patricia's  breast  toward  that  whine  in  the  dark. 

"No,  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  uttered. 

"That  makes  your  mommy — mommy  happy — to  hear 
you — say  that, — Paddy!"  The  speaker  faltered  between 
the  words  with  hysterical  sobs.  "Alex  sent  Bridget  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  servants  away,  and  there's  a  very  bad 
woman  in  the  kitchen.  They  have  both  gone  now,  but 
shut  the  door;  so  if  they  come  back,  they  won't  hear  what 
I  tell  you.  Come  a  little  nearer,  boy  baby." 

Stephen's  mother!  Mrs.  Clark!  Patricia's  legs  sud- 
denly gave  way  beneath  her,  and  she  sank  down  in  a 
crumpled  heap.  She  could  not  control  her  panting  breath, 
but  the  asthmatic  coughs  of  her  companion  made  it 
almost  inaudible. 

Then  she  crawled  to  the  door  and  closed  it.  On  her 
hands  and  knees  she  made  her  way  to  the  bedside.  A 
shutter  banged  somewhere  in  the  house,  and  her  hands 
clapped  to  her  mouth  to  suppress  a  scream. 

"I'm  so  tired,  Patrick,"  sighed  Mrs.  Clark.  "Alexander 
quite  sent  me  wild,  telling  me  how  you  suffered.  He  said 
you'd  been  so  disfigured  I  couldn't  even  see  your  dear 
face. — Is  it  nice  and  warm  in  Heaven,  dear?  And  can't 
you  take  your  poor  old  mother  back  with  you?  Are  you 
there,  Paddy?" 

"Yes,  I'm  here,"  murmured  Patricia  between  her 
fingers. 

Of  course,  she  was  there,  but  Alexander  Clark  stood 
between  her  and  the  assistance  she  desired  beyond  ex- 
pression to  render  Patrick's  mother.  How  she  wished 
she  had  fetched  with  her  Barney  or  Martin  Brewer! 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    251 

Then  the  memory  of  her  days  in  Chicago  sent  her  to 
praying.  In  "The  Streams  Make  Glad,"  she  had  recited 
for  the  shepherd  boy's  reassurance: 

"If  I  make  my  bed  in  hell,  behold,  Thou  art  there. 
Even  there  shall  Thy  hand  lead  me,  and  Thy  right  hand 
shall  hold  me.  For  Thou  wilt  not  leave  my  soul  in  hell, 
neither  wilt  Thou  suffer  Thine  holy  one  to  see  corruption." 

And  now  the  Psalmist's  declaration  clarified  her  senses. 
Then  she  decided  that  the  mother  of  her  dead  was  a  holy 
one  of  the  Most  High,  and  God  was  right  there.  He  was 
everpresent,  always  available;  He  was  ever  willing  to 
help.  And  out  of  those  inmost  thoughts  there  came 
to  her,  all  in  the  fraction  of  a  second,  a  faith  so  big,  so 
splendid,  that  she  would  be  able  to  save  Patrick's  mother, 
that  she  stood  up  suddenly.  There  was  not  a  moment 
to  waste. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  softly.  "Poor  little  mother,  IVe 
come  to  help  you!" 

Mrs.  Clark  did  not  catch  the  significance  of  the  words. 
She  was  still  under  the  feverish  impression  that  her  son 
was  in  the  room. 

"It  seems  so  good  to  have  you  again,  Patsy,"  she  said. 
"You'll  stay  with  me  always,  sonny.  Oh,  you  will,  won't 
you?" 

"But  you  mustn't  cry,"  Patricia  urged.  "You'll  try  to 
be  brave  and  help  me?" 

It  took  a  few  seconds  for  the  words  to  sink  into  the 
woman's  consciousness. 

"Yes,  Pat,  yes,  I  will,"  she  quivered.  "Can  I  go 
away  from  Alexander?  To-night, — maybe,  to-night, 
Patrick?  God  help  me!  God  in  heaven  make  Alex  be 
kind,  only  a  little  kind,  to  me — for — for  once." 

Feeling  her  way  through  {he  darkness,  Patricia  found 
the  door  and  opened  it.  Then  she  flooded  the  room  with 
light  by  a  quick  snap  of  the  electric  switch.  Finally  she 


252     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

walked  to  the  bed.  Mrs.  Clark  raised  her  head,  but,  when 
she  noticed  the  girl  staring  at  her,  she  dropped  it  again 
to  the  pillow. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  gasped. 

"I'm  Patrick's  wife,  dear,"  stammered  Patricia,  weaken- 
ing at  her  task,  "and  he — he  told — told  me  to  come  and — 
and  take  care  of  you." 

"Then  loosen  the  ropes  Alex  tied  around  me,  please," 
Mrs.  Clark  begged  convulsively.  "They  hurt  me  so!" 

To  accomplish  this,  Patricia  had  to  crawl  under  the 
bed,  and,  when  she  was  again  on  her  feet,  Mrs.  Clark  was 
sitting  up  very  straight. 

"Where's  my  son?"  she  asked.  "He  was  here  a  little 
while  ago.  He  spoke  to  me.  Where  is  he?  Where  is 
he?" 

"He — he — he  had  to  go,"  Patricia  stumbled,  at  her 
wits'  end  for  the  right  words  to  speak.  "But  he — he  told 
me  to  tell  you  not  to  be  afraid  any  more,  that  I  was  to  be 
your  girl,  and  you're  to  be  my — my  mother."  And  then 
did  Patricia  give  silent  thanks  for  the  last  will  and  testa- 
ment of  Patrick  O'Kelleron. 

"Alex  won't  permit  it,  child,"  mourned  Nancy.  "It 
was  only  to-day  that  he  struck  me  because  I  cried  for  my 
boy.  He  made  me  leave  the  town  house  and  come  out 
here,  and  it's  terribly  cold.  I  want  to  go  away — now — 
this  minute  before  he  comes  back." 

"But  he  shan't  hurt  you  any  more,"  insisted  Patricia 
gently.  "I  won't  let  him." 

As  if  she  did  not  believe  it,  Mrs.  Clark  droned  on: 

"Yes,  he  will!  Yes,  he  will!  He  always  does! 
He  says  he'll  have  all  the  money  now.  I'll  be  glad  when 
it's  gone.  He  says  I'm  crazy,  but,  of  course,  I'm  not! 
But  you're  much  too  small  to  stand  in  Alexander's  way." 
She  hesitated,  and  a  long  cough  racked  her  frame. 

"My  Paddy's  wife,"  she  resumed  in  a  rambling  voice. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     253 

"That's  queer — very  queer,  indeed!  Patrick  was  a  good 
boy  to  me!  Where'd  he  go?  Is  he  coming  back  soon?" 
She  caught  hold  of  one  of  Patricia's  hands,  fondled  it, 
then  pressed  it  with  her  hot  lips.  "Oh,  little  girl,  don't 
go  away  and  leave  me.  Please  don't!  Alexander  is 
going  to  put  me  in  an  asylum.  I  know  he  will.  He 
threatened  to  this  morning  when — when  I  asked  to  see 
Frank  Shevlin." 

Frank  Shevlin!  He  was  Stephen's  friend!  Patricia 
had  seen  his  name  in  her  husband's  will. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Shevlin?"  she  cried.  "Tell  me  quickly! 
No,  you  mustn't  shake  so,  dear  one.  I  promise  Mr. 
Clark  shan't  touch  you  again.  Now,  stop  crying,  and  tell 
me  where  Mr.  Shevlin  is.  Does  he  live  in  Portchester? 

"Yes!    But  Alex  won't  let  him  come  in  the  house." 

"Mr.  Alex  can't  help  himself,"  returned  Patricia  as  she 
darted  away. 


254    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

"NEW  YORK'S  all  right  to  do  business  in  a  few  hours 
a  day,  but  it's  no  place  to  live."  Thus  Frank  Shevlin  ex- 
plained why  he  practiced  law  in  the  city  but  lived  on 
Long  Island  Sound  in  the  outskirts  of  Portchester. 

This  stormy  evening  more  than  a  week  after  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  had  been  laid  beside  his  father,  Frank  was 
resting  in  his  easy  chair  in  his  den.  His  wife,  Caroline, 
had  gone  upstairs  early,  and  her  husband  had  been  spend- 
ing a  half-hour  in  meditation. 

Young  O'Kelleron  had  studied  law  in  his  office.  More- 
over, Frank  had  known  the  lad  from  the  day  of  his  birth, 
had  known  his  father  before  him  and  frowned  on  his 
mother's  second  marriage  to  Alexander  Clark.  But  for 
that  rash  act  he  had  forgiven  the  poor  woman  long  ago, 
since  he  was  quite  sure  she  had  not  been  happy.  Now  die 
lawyer's  cogitation  was  not  so  much  about  his  dead  friend 
as  about  Mrs.  Clark  on  O'Kelleron  Island. 

Of  late,  since  Patrick  had  gone  to  Butte,  and  especially 
since  his  death,  dark  tales  from  servants  visiting  servants 
had  drifted  to  Shevlin  about  the  Clark  household;  and, 
since  the  family  had  moved  to  the  island,  he  had  made 
two  trips  across  the  piled  bridge  to  verify  them.  But 
Alexander  had  been  there  to  thwart  him.  He  had  been 
unable  to  hold  any  conversation  with  Nancy,  nor  had  he 
seen  her.  How  sleek,  how  almost  uncanny,  Alexander 
was!  He  had  explained  that  he  had  brought  his  wife  to 
the  country  early  because  she  was  so  prostrated  by  her 
son's  unfortunate  death,  and  as  yet  she  was  unable  to  see 
any  one. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     255 

And  now  Alexander  had  demanded  administration 
papers  in  the  name  of  Nancy  Clark.  Frank  did  not  like 
the  sound  of  it,  but  it  really  was  not  any  of  his  business, 
as  Caroline  had  reiterated  often  enough. 

Sighing,  he  arose  to  join  his  good  wife,  when  the 
telephone  broke  sharply  the  silence  of  the  house.  The 
two  servants  were  out  for  the  evening,  so  it  devolved  on 
the  master  to  answer  the  summons  himself. 

"Hello,"  he  called.     "Frank  Shevlin's  residence!" 

A  low,  strained  voice  came  to  his  ear  through  the  tube. 

"Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Shevlin!  Come  over  to  O'Kelleron 
Island  right  away.  Mrs.  Clark  needs  you!" 

The  receiver  clicked  at  the  other  end  before  he  had 
time  to  ask  a  single  question.  But,  being  a  man  of  action, 
he  telephoned  for  a  conveyance,  ran  upstairs  to  acquaint 
his  wife  with  his  intentions,  and  he  was  lighting  a  cigar 
on  the  porch  when  the  taxi  drew  up  at  the  curb. 

Less  than  half  an  hour  later,  Patricia  opened  the  door 
of  Patrick  O'Kelleron's  house  on  O'Kelleron  Island  the 
instant  Frank  Shevlin  set  his  foot  on  the  porch. 

"I'm  Mr.  Shevlin,"  he  observed  gravely.  "Did  you 
telephone  me?" 

She  nodded  assent,  and  he  noticed  her  childish  attempt 
to  stay  the  trembling  of  her  lips. 

"I'm  so  glad  you're  here,"  she  said  in  a  stifled  voice. 
"Mr.  Shevlin,  are  you  —  are  you  afraid  of  Alexander 
Clark?" 

She  was  so  breathlessly  in  earnest,  with  her  sand-gray 
eyes  centered  unswervingly  upon  him,  that  Shevlin  did  not 
answer  until  he  had  entered  and  closed  the  door.  Then 
he  jerked  off  his  hat  and  overcoat. 

"I'm  damned  well  not  afraid  of  the  cad,  Miss,"  he 
rapped  out,  turning  around  upon  her.  "Why?" 

A  smile  of  relief  lighted  up  her  white  face,  and  the  blood 
came  into  her  cheeks  in  waves.  The  coming  of  Stephen's 


256    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

strong  friend  had  put  an  end  to  the  reign  of  Alexander's 
cruelty. 

"Come  in  here  for  a  few  minutes,"  she  said.  "There's 
fire  enough  to  warm  you  up  a  bit.  The  house  is  like  a 
barn." 

Without  replying,  Shevlin  followed  her  into  a  large 
room  running  parallel  with  the  porch,  and  both  of  them 
took  chairs  in  silence. 

"I  was  sorry  to  call  you  out  in  the  rain,"  she  excused 
presently,  "but — " 

"Never  mind  that,"  he  interrupted.  "How  about  Mrs. 
Clark?" 

A  wistfulness  became  visible  about  her  mouth.  It  gave 
her  a  little-girl-like  air  that  set  astir  Frank  Shevlin's 
interest. 

"Where's  Alexander  Clark?"  he  asked.  "Is  he  up- 
stairs with  Nancy?  Did  he  tell  you  to  call  me?" 

"No,  he's  in  New  York,"  she  told  him,  "but  Patrick's 
mother — " 

"Where  is  she?"  he  asked. 

"Asleep  now!     I'm  here,  alone  with  her!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  her,  and  what  are  you  doing 
here?"  He  rose  with  an  abruptness  that  seemed  in  ac- 
cord with  his  swift  questions.  "I  can't  understand  what 
it's  all  about.  You  might  start  in  and  give  me  an  inkling 
of  what's  happened.  First — who  are  you?" 

His  voice  was  peremptory  and  a  trifle  stern. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  queried  again,  "and  how  did  you 
get  in  here?" 

Her  lids  flickered  a  little.  Still  she  regarded  him 
for  a  space  before  she  spoke. 

"I'm — I'm  Mrs.  Patrick  O'Kelleron!"  she  answered 
slowly  and  steadily,  "and — I  climbed  in  through  the 
kitchen  window." 

As  accustomed  as  Shevlin  was  to  present  an  undis- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     257 

turbed  front  to  the  unexpected,  he  evidenced  his  astonish- 
ment by  bending  forward  and  looking  keenly  at  her. 

"Ye  gods,  you  don't  say  so!"  he  exclaimed.  "Did  you 
tell  Nancy?" 

Then  as  the  picture  her  words  suggested  to  his  mind 
developed  in  detail  and  clearness,  he  took  a  couple  of 
strides  up  and  down  the  room.  She  was  an  amazing 
bunch  of  girlhood,  she  who  claimed  to  be  the  wife  of 
Patrick  O'Kelleron.  But  was  she?  He  stopped  directly 
in  front  of  her. 

"Look  here,  Miss, — whatever  your  name  is,"  he  broke 
forth.  "You  know  very  well  you  can't  come  along  and 
break  into  a  house  without  giving  a  faithful  account  of 
yourself.  You've  made  a  big  statement,  and,  if  it's  false, 
you'll  get  into  difficulty.  Where  are  your  proofs  that 
you  have  a  right  here?" 

As  she  began  busying  herself  with  the  contents  of  an 
inside  pocket  of  her  jacket,  he  ceased  speaking,  and,  while 
he  watched  her,  he  hoped  to  Heaven  that  she  really  did 
have  sufficient  evidence  to  make  good  her  claim. 

Presently  she  fetched  forth  a  paper  and  handed  it  to 
him. 

"There,"  she  said  in  a  small,  weak  voice,  "that's  my 
marriage  certificate." 

Strangely  moved,  Shevlin  accepted  it,  switched  on  the 
table  light  and  sat  down.  He  adjusted  his  glasses,  more 
to  gain  a  moment  for  self -preparation  than  from  any 
optical  necessity,  and  then  opened  the  stiff  parchment  and 
read  it  through  to  the  end. 

"That's  certainly  Pat's  signature,"  he  admitted,  look- 
ing up. 

"Yes,  it  is!  And  this,"  she  explained,  extending 
another  folded  paper,  "this  is  his  will.  I  wish  you  to 
read  it,  Mr.  Shevlin." 

A  wife!     A  will!     The  whole  Clark  situation  changed 


258    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA  •  PEPPERD AY 

in  a  trice!  This  girl,  still  a  child,  who  had  evidently 
married  Patrick,  had  his  will!  It  would,  probably,  alter 
the  lives  of  every  one  on  the  island;  his  own  future  might 
be  affected  for  aught  he  knew. 

Try,  as  he  would,  he  could  not  conceal  his  emotion.  It 
was  so  like  impulsive  Patrick, — this  wife  business.  How- 
ever, he  took  the  document  and  without  speaking  or  giving 
the  silent  girl  a  glance,  he  picked  up  the  hand-written 
sheet  and  read  it  through  once  and  then  again.  His  own 
name  was  mentioned  in  it.  The  words,  "My  dear  friend, 
Frank  Shevlin,"  touched  him  deeply.  Patrick  stated 
plainly  that  he  and  that  chit  there,  leaning  her  face 
wearily  on  her  hand,  were  to  be  the  executors  of  his 
enormous  estates  in  the  Sound  country  and  in  New  York. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  he  said  unsteadily. 

Patricia  sighed. 

"I  came  here  to-day  to  give  the  will  to  Patrick's 
mother,"  she  continued  in  an  effort  to  make  plain  her 
position.  "I  didn't  want  any  of  his  money — not  any  oj 
it!  But  now,  I'm — I'm  not  going  to.  I — I — I —  want 
you — " 

"To  protect  your  interests,  I  suppose,"  suggested  the 
lawyer  crisply.  "You  needn't  worry  about  that  part  of 
it.  Mrs.  Clark  is  honest,  and  she  would  have  been  ap- 
pointed to  take  charge  of  her  son's  affairs  day  after  to- 
morrow, if  you  hadn't  appeared."  He  tapped  the  paper 
in  his  hand.  "But  this,  of  course,  will  make  a  difference." 

"Yes!"  She  paused  and  then  got  to  her  feet.  "Mr. 
Shevlin,  do  you  know  that  Patrick's  mother  is — insane, — 
quite  out  of  her  mind?" 

"Crazy?     No!" 

"And  that  Alexander  Clark  is  wickedly  cruel  to  the 
poor  woman?" 

Shevlin  turned  squarely  around  and  centered  a  pair 
of  startled  eyes  upon  his  questioner. 


"How  do  you  know  that?"  he  demanded.  There  was 
disbelief  in  his  tones.  "How  do  you  know?"  he  repeated. 

"Go  upstairs  and  see  for  yourself,"  she  replied.  "She — 
I  mean — I  thought  you  could  save  her  from  further  abuse 
if  you  came  over.  I  must  return  to  New  York  soon,  but 
I'll  come  back  to-morrow  morning. — Can  you  stay  here 
until  Mr.  Clark  comes?  And — and  all  night?" 

"But  listen  to  me!"  he  began.  "What  did  you  tell  me 
your  name  was?" 

For  a  moment  she  turned  from  him,  and  he  waited  for 
her  to  answer.  By  and  by,  without  moving,  she  spoke 
huskily: 

"Patricia  O'Kelleron!  Didn't  you  notice  it  on  the 
marriage  certificate?"  Then  she  told  him  in  a  few  broken 
sentences  how  and  when  and  where  she  had  married 
Patrick  O'Kelleron.  "Until  I  went  to  Butte — "  How  hard 
the  confession  came — "until  I  went  to  Butte,  I  was — I 
was  Patricia  Pepperday." 

Then,  as  an  ejaculation  fell  from  his  lips,  she  sat  down 
limply. 

"Pepperday?"  he  echoed.  "Yes — yes!  I  know  that 
name.  Michael  Pepperday!  Is — is  Michael  Pepper- 
day  a  relative  of  yours?" 

"My  —  brother !  My  —  dear, —  dear  —  brother,"  she 
acknowledged,  a  break  between  each  word. 

His  usual  composure,  gained  by  many  years  at  the  bar, 
was  not  proof  against  this.  Here  was  worse  and  more 
of  it,  he  thought. 

"Good  Lord!  Why,  Pat  convicted  that  young  fellow 
of  murder!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  was  Patrick's  record 
case." 

It  sounded  brutally  coarse,  but  he  had  not  meant  it 
so.  When  he  saw  her  crumple  up,  he  apologized : 

"I  say,  child,  just  overlook  what  I  said,  will  you? 
Sometimes  I  talk  too  much,  or  at  least  my  wife  says  I  do. 


26o    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Now,  tell  me,  was  I  the  first  to  tell  you  about  your 
brother  and — and  Patrick,  or  did  you  know  it  before?" 

"I  knew  it,"  she  breathed  faintly,  "but  not  till  after 
I  married  him!" 

All  in  a  minute  a  perfect  Niagara  of  questions  he 
wanted  to  ask  flooded  to  the  tip  of  Shevlin's  tongue.  There 
was  a  mystery  connected  with  the  girl;  it  hung  over  her 
like  a  pall. 

"Where  were  you  when  your  husband  was  killed?"  he 
inquired. 

"On  the  train — going  to  Chicago."  Her  words  were 
scarcely  audible.  "I  had  left  him  forever!  I  never  in- 
tended to  see  him  again." 

"On  account  of  your  brother?"  was  his  terse  query. 

"Yes!" 

She  made  a  pathetic  figure,  there  in  the  half-light, 
obviously  almost  at  the  end  of  her  strength. 

Shevlin  drew  a  long  sigh.  Against  his  better  judg- 
ment he  found  himself  believing  every  word  she  had 
spoken. 

"If  you  really  must  go  back  to  New  York  tonight," 
he  advised,  "you'd  do  well  to  start  along.  It's 
getting  late!  But  if  you  want  to  stay,  I'll  see  that  Clark 
doesn't  molest  you.  It  might  be  better,  though,  if  you 
were  somewhere  else,  when  he  gets  home.  Here,  hide 
these  papers,  and,  for  God's  sake,  don't  lose  them!" 

His  whole  attitude  had  changed,  and  he  spoke  in  such  a 
kindly  manner  that  Patricia  held  out  both  her  hands. 
He  told  himself  afterwards  it  was  no  wonder  Patrick  had 
loved  and  married  the  pretty  mite.  Her  very  helpless- 
ness made  him  bend  his  head  to  catch  her  words. 

"I'll  bring  my  brother,  Barney,  with  me  to-morrow. 
Mrs.  Clark  will  be  quite  safe  while  I'm  away,  won't 
she?" 

"Rest  easy  on  that  score,"  he  interjected. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    261 

"And — and,  Mr.  Shevlin,  would  you  mind  keeping  both 
my  marriage  certificate  and  Patrick's  will  for  me,  please. 
I'd  be  happier  if  you  would." 

And  from  the  time  Frank  Shevlin  shoved  those  valu- 
able documents  into  his  pocket,  he  was  Patricia  O'Kel- 
leron's  friend. 


262     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

INASMUCH  as  Frank  was  an  old-fashioned  man,  it 
went  against  the  grain  to  allow  Patricia  to  go  out  alone 
at  that  time  of  night;  but,  when  he  broached  the  subject, 
she  would  not  even  consent  to  his  taking  her  to  the  taxi. 

Under  the  roof  of  the  dark  porch  they  solemnly  shook 
hands,  but  Shevlin  did  not  go  back  into  the  house  until 
he  was  assured  that  she  had  reached  the  mainland  end  of 
the  piled  bridge. 

"Patsy,  son,"  were  the  plaintive  words  that  caused  him 
to  curse  his  own  stupidity  when  he  entered  Mrs.  Clark's 
chamber.  Why  had  he  not  forced  his  way  to  Nancy 
before?  Why  had  he  not  realized  the  caliber  of  Alex- 
ander Clark?  He  called  her  name  softly  but  staggered 
back  as  she  lifted  her  head. 

"It  isn't  Patrick,  Nancy,"  he  answered.  "I'm  Shevlin, 
Frank  Shevlin." 

She  smoothed  the  disordered  gray  hair  from  her 
temples  and  raised  herself  laboriously  to  a  sitting  position. 

"Patrick's  been  here,  Frank,"  she  informed  him.  "God 
let  him  come,  and  he  left  his  nice  little  wife  with  me. 
She  took  off  the  rope  Alexander  used  to  tie  me  in  bed, 
and  she  says  she'll  let  me  live  with  her,  and — and  she 
sang  me  to  sleep.  It's  the  first  time  I've  been  happy 
since  my  boy  died.  You  won't  let  Alex  hurt  her,  Frank, 
will  you?  He's  very  strong,  Alexander  is!" 

It  could  not  be  that  this  wreck  of  a  woman  was  Patrick 
O'Kelleron's  mother.  This  shattered  creature  was  not 
the  Nancy  he  had  known. 

Unable  to  speak,  he  caught  the  hand  that  fluttered 
toward  him  and  held  it  between  his  own  warm  palms. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     263 

"Frank,"  she  whispered,  "do  you  see  Patrick  any- 
where?" 

"No,  dear,"  he  returned.    "No!     No,  indeed!" 

"Then  don't  go  away  to-night  and  leave  me. — It's  night, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it's  night,  and  I'm  going  to  stay,  dear  Nancy. 
Lie  down  and  go  to  sleep  again." 

"No,  I  can't  sleep,  I  can't,  Frank,"  she  whimpered. 
"Don't  I  look  a  little—  just  a  little  bit  ill?" 

"God,"  shuddered  Shevlin. 

He  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  bed  and  sat  down. 

"Nancy,"  he  burst  out,  "Nancy,  did  Alex — " 

An  expression  of  terror  crossed  the  woman's  face. 

"Hush,"  she  answered,  trembling.  "Alexander  is  in  an 
awful  temper.  He  might  come  in  any  minute;  he  mustn't 
catch  me  telling  you  my  troubles.  A  very  queer,  yellow- 
haired  actress  came  along  with  him  the  other  day,  a  girl 
he  called  'Babe.'  I  didn't  like  her,  and  I  told  him  so.  Be- 
cause I  resented  her  being  here,  he  beat  me.  He's — he's 
going  to  put  me  in  an  asylum  as  soon  as  he  takes  charge 
of  Patsy's  money.  He  told  that  woman  so  right  before 
me.  Oh,  how  they  both  laughed!  I'm — I'm  not  crazy, 
Frank!" 

"Of  course,  you're  not,"  soothed  Shevlin  in  a  brotherly 
fashion,  "and  you're  not  going  to  any  asylum,  believe 
me!  Pat's  wife  appeared  just  in  time  to  head  off  Alex' 
game.  So,  don't  you  worry!  Now  then,  I'm  going  to 
have  Doctor  Watkins  here  to-night.  He'll  make  you 
comfortable.  I'll  telephone  him  this  minute.  Why, 
Nancy,  don't  you  believe  me  when  I  say  Alexander  shan't 
hurt  you?" 

"Don't  leave  me,  don't  go  away,"  she  cried. 

"Only  to  telephone  to  Doctor  Watkins,"  he  encouraged, 
and  her  sobs  were  quieted  by  her  faith  in  his  promise. 

When  he  passed  into  the  hall,  he  met  Alexander  rushing 


264    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

up  the  stairs  two  at  a  time.  As  they  confronted  each 
other,  surprise  colored  Clark's  countenance  crimson. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Shevlin,  how  in  the  world  did  you  get  in 
here?"  he  asked  with  an  astonished  twist  of  his  lips. 

"By  the  front  door,  of  course,"  was  the  reply.  "How'd 
you  suppose,  Alex?  I  didn't  fly  down  the  chimney,  and 
I'm  not  a  fellow  to  break  into  another  man's  home." 

"But  the  door  was  locked,"  faltered  Clark. 

Then  he  was  impressed  with  a  picture  of  Nancy,  wrig- 
gling from  under  her  ropes  and  against  his  express  orders 
descending  the  stairs  to  admit  the  one  man  he  had  con- 
stantly vowed  should  not  enter  the  house. 

"I  had  a  bit  of  news  for  you,  Alex,  so  I  ran  over," 
Shevlin  announced,  "and  I  was  shocked  to  see  Nancy  in 
such  a  condition." 

To  conceal  his  growing  consternation,  Alexander  flicked 
his  handkerchief  across  his  face. 

"Frank,  it's  a  thousand  wonders  she  isn't  worse,  poor 
darling,"  he  rejoined  in  sympathetic  tones.  "Pat's  death 
quite  unbalanced  her  mind.  I  am  frightened  to  have  her 
move  about  when  I  think  of  how  she  fell  downstairs.  She 
insisted  she  was  going  to  find  him  somewhere.  She 
simply  wouldn't  stay  in  bed  until  she  was  herself,  as  I 
wanted  her  to." 

"So  you  tied  her  in! "  snapped  Shevlin.  "And  a  doctor, 
Alex!  Why  hasn't  she  had  a  doctor?" 

A  slight  shrug  of  Clark's  shoulders  indicated  how 
lightly  he  was  impressed  by  the  question. 

"Now,  listen  to  me,  dear  boy,"  he  urged.  "Nancy 
could  have  had  a  doctor  or  anything  else  she  wanted. 
But  really,  Frank,  I  don't  think  it's  necessary  to  call 
Watkins  in  at  this  time.  After  a  while  when  she  gets 
used  to  Patrick's  absence  and  realizes  that  he  is  dead,  I 
won't  have  to  use  such  stringent  measures." 

He  spoke  with  confidence,  suavely,  courteously,  all  the 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     265 

time  hiding  the  inward  exultation  that,  after  two  days, 
no  one  would  be  privileged  to  enter  here  without  his  per- 
mission or  invitation.  Another  forty-eight  hours  would 
put  it  out  of  the  power  of  any  one  to  disturb  him,  in  his 
suddenly  acquired  affluence.  It  was  this  knowledge  burn- 
ing in  his  breast  that  superinduced  his  most  affable  manner. 

"Come  along  to  my  den,  dear  Shevlin,"  he  invited  smil- 
ing, "and  shed  your  precious  news  on  my  most  willing 
head.  We'll  have  a  sociable  drink.  Pardon  a  moment. 
Mrs.  Clark  is  calling  me." 

"No,  she's  calling  me,"  protested  Shevlin,  moving  for- 
ward. 

A  ringing  laugh  burst  from  Clark. 

"My  dear  Frank,"  he  exclaimed,  "it's  evident  you  don't 
know  Nancy  as  well  as  I  do.  While  she's  an  old  dear,  I 
must  admit  she  always  plays  to  the  gallery." 

Nevertheless,  the  lawyer  followed  close  behind  Alex- 
ander. 

Shrinking  away  from  her  husband's  extended  hand, 
Nancy  began  to  cry. 

"Oh,  Frank,  stay  with  me.  Don't  leave  me  alone  with 
him.  I'm  so — so  afraid.  Get  away,  Alex !  Don't  touch 
me!" 

"There,  there,  Nance,  be  quiet,"  responded  Shevlin, 
stationing  himself  near  the  bed.  "I'll  just  stay  here  with 
your  wife,  Alex,  till  Doctor  Watkins  comes.  You  see, 
she  wants  me  to.  You  trot  down  and  telephone  and  tell 
him  to  bring  along  Miss  Browning.  Nancy  needs  a 
nurse." 

Two  pairs  of  masculine  eyes  battled  a  moment.  Then, 
angrily,  Alexander  whirled  on  his  heel  and  departed. 

And  not  until  Frank  Shevlin  saw  that  Mrs.  Clark  was 
in  the  competent  hands  of  Miss  Browning,  a  sympathetic, 
buxom  woman,  and  Doctor  Watkins  had  taken  his  de- 
parture, did  he  retire  with  Alexander  to  a  commodious 


266    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

room  adjoining  the  library.  Ah,  how  many  times  he  had 
enjoyed  himself  there  with  Patrick!  It  infuriated  him, 
Alexander's  proprietary  manner. 

"Now,  you've  humored  my  wife,  Frank,  I  hope  you're 
satisfied,"  Clark  said  as  sweetly  as  if  butter  would  not 
melt  in  his  mouth.  "The  dear  thing  can  be  as  theatrical 
as  she  likes  with  soft  old  Browning.  Nancy  loves  to  have 
a  fuss  made  over  her,  and  she's  just  in  her  element  with 
Archibald  Watkins  hanging  around.  Sit  down  a  while! 
What  would  you  like  to  drink?" 

"Nothing!  Not  a  drop  of  anything,  thanks!  I'll 
smoke,  though."  So  saying,  Shevlin  took  a  cigar  from  his 
pocket. 

Naught  but  the  realization  that  he  would  soon  be  at 
liberty  to  resent  the  intrusion  of  this  legal  old  busybody 
had  carried  Alexander  through  the  last  trying  hour.  With 
assumed  nonchalance  he  seated  himself,  extracted  a 
cigarette  from  his  case  and  lighted  it. 

"I'm  rather  curious  to  learn  how  you  got  in  here, 
Shevlin,"  he  remarked,  harking  back  to  the  question  that 
especially  interested  him.  "I'm  perfectly  sure  the  house 
was  securely  locked  when  I  went  away.  In  fact,  we  have 
but  one  servant  now,  and  I  gave  her  leave  to  take  a  run  to 
White  Plains.  I  left  after  she  did.  Did  Nancy  come 
downstairs?" 

"I'll  explain  all  that  later,"  drawled  the  lawyer,  his 
head  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke.  "Want  to  hear  a 
bit  of  gossip?" 

Almost  at  the  end  of  his  patience,  Clark  assented. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,  though  I'm  not  much  concerned 
with  the  wags  of  Portchester.  I'd  like  to  choke  a  lot  of 
scandal-mongers  in  this  town." 

Shevlin  laughed. 

"But  most  of  'em  mean  well,  I  imagine,  Alex.  How- 
ever, I'll  miss  my  guess  if  you're  not  interested  in  this. 


THE   MARRIAGE  OF   PATRICIA   PEPPERDAY    267 

As  it  happens,  it  didn't  come  from  the  tongues  of  Port- 
chester. — The  most  surprising  thing  has  transpired; 
Nancy  can't  be  appointed  adminstrator  now." 

With  incredulous  scepticism  Alexander's  mouth  opened, 
and  his  usually  drooping  lids  spread  wide.  What  had  his 
wife  said  to  Frank  when  he  was  alone  with  her?  Perhaps, 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  act  as  administrator  of  her  son's 
estate.  If  that  were  so,  he  would  give  her  good  cause 
to  change  her  mind. 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  he  inquired  with  an  effort  not  to 
appear  disturbed. 

"Well,  it's  like  this,"  answered  Shevlin,  his  eyes,  under 
thick  shaggy  brows,  scrutinizing  the  other's  face.  "You'll 
remember  how  I  used  to  prod  Pat  to  make  a  will,  and 
how  he  always  put  me  off.  Well,  it  seems  he  did  make 
one  without  my  help,  and  it's  cropped  up  at  last." 

"Hell!"  The  coming  of  so  harsh  an  expletive  from 
Clark's  polite  lips  indicated  how  tremendous  was  the 
shock  of  the  lawyer's  announcement.  Then  Alexander 
recovered  himself  in  a  measure  and  added,  "How  do  you 
know?" 

Not  in  many  years  had  Frank  Shevlin  enjoyed  himself 
as  he  did  at  that  moment.  In  tantalizing  deliberation  he 
tapped  his  cigar  over  an  ash  tray. 

"I've  seen  it,"  he  asserted  with  a  smack  of  his  lips, 
"and  I've  had  it  in  my  hand,  Alex." 

"Let  me  see  it,  too,"  exclaimed  Clark,  partly  rising. 

Taking  out  his  watch,  Shevlin  counted  off  twenty 
seconds  with  Alexander  half  out  of  his  chair. 

How  provokingly  slow  the  old  codger  was,  Clark  told 
himself,  with  difficulty  repressing  his  eagerness. 

"Let  me  see  it,  Frank,"  he  insisted. 

"No,  not  now,"  refused  Shevlin  as  his  timepiece  went 
into  his  pocket,  and  Clark  settled  back.  "Sit  still,  and  be 
easy,  Alex.  The  affair  is  a  wee  bit  complicated  and  needs 


268    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

a  little  explanation.  Besides,  my  dear  Alex,  you  certainly 
have  more  sense  than  to  imagine  that  a  man  would  carry 
about  loose  a  will  bequeathing  millions.  You're  too 
wise  for  that!" 

Involuntarily  his  hand  went  to  his  chest,  and  he  chuck- 
led audibly  at  the  memory  of  a  gray-eyed  girl  producing 
the  valuable  document  in  question. 

By  main  force  Alexander  kept  his  seat.  He  was  as 
positive  that  the  man  before  him  had  upon  his  person  the 
title  to  the  fortune  he  craved,  as  that  he  was  living. 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"It  was  drawn  by  Patrick  himself,  in  Idaho  Falls  in  the 
State  of  Idaho;  the  exact  date  I've  forgotten,"  observed 
Shevlin.  "It  is  in  the  usual  form,  signed  by  Pat  at  the 
end,  with  a  full  attestation  clause  and  two  witnesses." 

"Never  mind  all  that  technical  stuff,"  thrust  in 
Clark.  "What's  the  substance  of  it?  What  did  Patrick 
do  with  his  property?" 

"The  first  clause  provides  for  the  payment  of  his  debts 
and  funeral  expenses,"  the  lawyer  continued  with  tran- 
quillity. "Really  that  was  an  unnecessary  precaution, 
you  know.  The  law  would  see  to  that,  anyway." 

Bending  forward,  Alexander  queried,  "Of  course,  then 
what?" 

"The  second  clause  is  the  disposing  part  of  the  will." 
Shelvin  stopped  and  cleared  his  throat  while  he  watched 
the  other  man's  strained,  expectant  attitude. 

"Would — would  you  mind,  dear  boy,  reading  it  as  it  is 
written?"  came  pleadingly  from  Clark's  pursed  lips. 

With  a  puff  of  smoke,  Shevlin  blew  the  question  aside. 

"Don't  get  in  a  sweat,  old  man,"  and  he  grinned. 
"Everything  in  its  order.  You  won't  relish  the  fact, 
Alex,  that — that  Pat  left  everything  to — his — wife." 

In  a  most  undignified  manner  Alexander  bounced  up. 
He  turned  giddily  around  and  sank  down  again. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     269 

"What?"  he  cried.  "His  wife!  Patrick  didn't  have 
a  wife!" 

"Apparently  he  did,"  was  the  mild  answer.  "Anyhow, 
a  girl  came  here  to-day  who  says  Pat  married  her." 

"Did  you  see  her,  Frank?" 

"I  certainly  did — to-night!  She  telephoned  me  to 
come  over,  and  she's  one  damned  pretty  woman,  too. 
Take  my  opinion  on  that!  She — she  let  me  in,  so  don't 
put  the  blame  on  Nancy."  Shevlin's  words  were  muf- 
fled by  the  short  spurts  of  smoke  which  accompanied 
them.  "I  saw  her  marriage  certificate,  also,  Alex,  signed 
by  Patrick.  You  couldn't  fool  me  on  that  boy's  scrawl 
in  a  hundred  years.  So  I've  made  up  my  mind  she's  the 
genuine  article."  He  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand  as 
though  to  indicate  that  that  practically  settled  it. 

A  long  silence  ensued  during  which  the  lawyer  smoked 
furiously,  and  Alexander  contemplated  the  tips  of  his 
boots  in  deep  meditation. 

"Did  Pat  cut  his  mother  off  entirely,  Shevlin?"  he  ex- 
ploded at  length. 

The  question  gave  Frank  the  opportunity  he  had  been 
eagerly  anticipating.  Figuratively  speaking,  the  propi- 
tious moment  had  arrived  in  this  interesting  game  to  play 
his  winning  cards. 

"Pat  was  a  remarkable  fellow,"  he  philosophized  ap- 
provingly. "He  had  a  superior  insight  into  human  nature 
that  slipped  by  me  as  well  as  I  knew  him." 

He  smiled  a  wide,  enigmatical  grin  at  the  corner  of  the 
room.  Then  he  turned  to  his  rigid  neighbor. 

"You'll  agree  with  me,  Alex,"  he  took  up,  "when  you 
hear  that  the  boy  requested  his  wife  to  provide  suitable 
support  for  Nancy  as  long  as  she  lives.  Patrick  stated 
plainly  that,  if  he  gave  anything  to  his  mother  outright, 
you'd  waste  it." 

Heartily  as  the  speaker  disliked  the  handsome  Alex- 


270    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

ander,  he  was  inclined  to  pity  him  then.  There  he  sat, 
the  unfortunate,  huddled  over  dismally,  pulling  his  fingers 
until  the  joints  cracked.  Humming  a  tune  through  his 
nose,  Frank  prepared  another  cigar  for  lighting.  He 
struck  a  match  and  held  it  aloft  and  glanced  up.  And 
then, — he  found  himself  looking  into  the  barrel  of  a 
revolver. 

"Give  me  that  will,  Frank,"  ordered  Alexander,  his  lips 
drawn  back  from  his  gleaming  teeth.  "Put  your  hand 
in  your  pocket  and  hand  it  over." 

There  was  no  blandness  in  Clark's  erect  figure,  no 
suavity  in  his  low,  commanding  voice. 

Shevlin's  face  went  white  as  the  cold  steel  met  his 
temple. 

"All  right,  all  right,  my  dear  Alex,"  he  agreed.  "You 
don't  have  to  kill  me  to  get  what  you  want.  Surely  you 
know  that." 

The  hand  that  held  the  gun  slumped  slightly,  and  the 
cold  muzzle,  lurching  away,  gave  Shevlin  the  chance  he 
needed.  With  one  direct  blow  he  knocked  the  weapon  to 
the  floor,  and  another,  more  forcible  still,  landed  Alex- 
ander on  his  back. 

Pouncing  on  the  gun,  Shevlin  swept  it  into  position, 
ready  for  use. 

"Quite  theatrical,  Alex,"  he  laughed  down  at  his  op- 
ponent. "One  of  the  best  bits  of  acting  I  ever  saw! 
Did  the  peroxide  blonde  you  flashed  on  Nancy  touch  up 
your*  ability  in  bounderism?  She  did  a  good  job,  I 
swear!  Get  up,  you  idiotic  four-flusher!" 

At  the  peremptory  order,  Alexander  arose  from  the 
floor. 

"I'm  glad  I  made  your  nose  bleed,  you  rascal,"  rasped 
Shevlin,  "and  you're  lucky  it  isn't  worse!  If  it  weren't 
for  the  scandalous  mess  it  would  get  your  wife  into,  I'd 
open  a  hole-  in  your  hide  and  let  daylight  clean  through 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    271 

you.  Now,  plump  your  damned  elegant  person  down  in 
that  chair  while  I  make  you  a  classic  speech  you'll  remem- 
ber to  your  grave.  Squat,  Alexander!"  He  slowly 
lifted  the  revolver  and  repeated,  "Squat,  my  friend!" 


272     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

So  it  happened  that  the  moon  had  made  but  one  com- 
plete cycle  around  the  earth  since  Patricia  O'Kelleron  had 
answered  Nancy  Clark's  ghostly  "Paddy?"  with  a  whis- 
pered "What?"  when  the  court  stamped  its  seal  of  ap- 
proval upon  the  last  will  and  testament  of  Patrick 
O'Kelleron. 

That  was  a  miserable  moment  for  Alexander  Clark. 
However  anxious  he  had  been  to  prevent  the  probate,  he 
really  could  have  done  nothing  more  than  to  make  a  little 
delay;  and  even  that  he  was  induced  not  to  attempt  during 
a  private  conversation  with  Frank  Shevlin  and  Mrs. 
Patrick  O'Kelleron. 

As  it  was  still  March  and  blustery  cold,  Patricia's 
first  move  was  to  open  the  Park  Avenue  house  in  New 
York  and  establish  her  home  there. 

Quite  ill  with  unspoken  suspicions  that  all  was  not  as 
it  should  be  with  Michael,  Yum-yum  came  from  Balm- 
ville  in  one  of  the  O'Kelleron  sedans. 

Mrs.  Clark,  better  in  health,  was  transplanted  from  the 
chilly  discomfort  of  O'Kelleron  Island  to  the  snug  warmth 
of  the  city  house. 

For  Patricia  herself,  the  month  had  been  a  period  of 
introspection  and  reconstruction.  Fame  before  the  foot- 
lights no  longer  attracted  her,  but  her  ambition  for  her 
brothers  soared  skyward,  when  Martin  Brewer  placed 
Barney  in  a  Broadway  show  as  understudy  for  the  lead- 
ing part. 

There  were  unendurable  moments  for  her  over  Michael. 
Especially  had  she  suffered  the  day  she  had  told  him  of 
her  marriage,  but  Frank  Shevlin  had  lightened  her  burden 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     273 

by  accompanying  her  to  Ossining.  Oh,  the  hearty  hand- 
shake he  had  given  Michael !  Assurances,  too,  of  his  aid 
for  a  new  trial.  The  advisibility  of  applying  for  a  pardon 
was  discussed.  The  lawyer  thought  it  improbable  that 
executive  clemency  would  be  extended  so  soon,  and 
Patricia  and  Michael  objected  to  it  because  it  would  not 
remove  the  stain  of  the  conviction,  even  if  it  were  granted. 

"Pat  O'Kelleron  would  have  dug  up  evidence  which 
would  have  been  an  entering  wedge  for  an  application," 
Shevlin  had  avowed,  "so  I  guess  I  can.  Buck  up,  Pepper- 
day,  and  good  luck  to  you." 

Now  that  she  had  some  liberty,  Patricia  decided  to  de- 
vote a  part  of  the  wealth,  so  strangely  and  unexpectedly 
hers,  to  the  use  of  the  poor  and  unfortunate ;  and  roughly 
her  purpose  was  to  supplement  and  assist  Martin  Brewer's 
"God  save  'em!"  work. 

Arrangements  were  made  for  that  between  herself  and 
Martin  one  evening  when  she  was  calling  at  Brewer's. 

The  tale  of  how  the  parrot  had  come  to  join  the  family 
circle  Benny  told  her  eagerly. 

"I  don't  believe  any  one  was  going  to  harm  George  at 
all,"  he  asserted.  "Anyway,  I  couldn't  get  a  word  out  of 
Fancy  about  it  after  the  first  day  she  came  here.  She's 
a  lot  happier,  though,  than  she  was  then.  Did  you  notice, 
Lady  Pat,  how  plump  her  cheeks  are?" 

"Yes,  Benny,"  answered  Patricia,  "and  it  was  the 
kindest  thing  you  ever  did,  to  help  that  poor  child.  I 
want  to  do  something  for  her  myself." 

It  was  Benny's  belief,  so  he  said,  that  Fancy  was  miser- 
able in  her  mother's  house.  He  insisted  that  she  had 
neither  the  wit  nor  strength  to  do  the  work  expected  of 
her  and  was  depressed  by  her  separation  from  George. 

"I  wish  I  could  have  her  with  me,"  said  Patricia,  "but, 
of  course,  I'd  have  to  consult  her  mother  before  I  make 
any  plans." 


274    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

So  that  idea  sent  Patricia  back  to  Forty-eighth  Street 
the  next  day. 

"Why,  m'  dear,"  remarked  Mrs.  Cavendish,  "I'd  like 
to  know  what  under  the  canopy  you  want  with  my  girl. 
She's  about  as  much  good  as  a  rag  doll.  Now,  what  do 
you  want  of  'er?" 

"I'm  fond  of  Fancy,"  evaded  Patricia. 

"Is  that  sayin'  you  think  I'm  not,"  flared  the  house- 
keeper, suspicious  that  her  character  as  a  parent  was 
being  attacked. 

"Certainly  not,  Mrs.  Cavendish!  Of  course,  not!  But 
you  see  I  lived  here  long  enough  to  know  that  she  is  a 
trial  to  you.  There're  so  many  things  she  could  learn  if 
she  had  the  opportunity.  She  likes  me,  and,  if  you  agree 
to  let  me  keep  her,  say  five  years — " 

Then  the  sum  of  money  Patricia  offered  was  a  persua- 
sive consideration  with  the  busy  landlady. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  one  morning  Fancy,  all  smiles, 
took  George  from  the  Brewer  home  and  carried  him  to 
Park  Avenue  in  triumph. 

Some  days  later  when  Frank  Shevlin  entered  his 
offices  at  Number  120  Broadway,  he  greeted  a  tall  man 
who  arose  slowly. 

"Were  you  waiting  for  me,  sir?"  Frank  asked,  divest- 
ing himself  of  his  outer  garments.  "Chilly,  isn't  it? 
We're  going  to  have  a  late  summer  from  the  feel  of  it.  I 
drove  in  from  Portchester,  and  it  was  anything  but  pleas- 
ant. Did  you  say  you  wanted  to  see  me?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  stranger's  husky  reply.  "If  you  have 
a  little  time,  I'd  like  to  see  you  privately  if  I  may." 

Glancing  at  his  watch,  Shevlin  nodded. 

"I've  an  appointment  at  eleven,"  he  said.  "That  gives 
us  thirty-five  minutes.  Think  that  will  be  enough? — All 
right,  then!  Come  into  my  private  office." 

There  was  a  peculiar  something  about  his  caller  that 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     275 

aroused  the  attorney's  interest.  He  saw,  without  seeming 
to  be  curious,  that  the  powerful  face  was  very  pale  and 
thin  to  emaciation.  Heavy,  dark  spectacles,  encased  in 
bone  settings,  shielded  a  pair  of  eyes  which  Frank 
imagined,  were  weak  and  near-sighted.  The  poor  fellow 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  through  a  long  period  of  sick- 
ness. However,  the  lawyer  made  no  remark  as  he  piloted 
him  into  a  large,  sunny  room. 

"Take  a  seat,"  he  invited  with  a  hospitable  flourish, 
settling  himself  in  his  desk  chair.  "There!  Fire  ahead ! " 

"I  want  to  retain  you  as  my  attorney,"  stated  the 
stranger  abruptly. 

"In  difficulty— eh?" 

"Yes!" 

"But  I  certainly  have  to  know  the  nature  of  your  case 
before  committing  myself,"  Shevlin  pointed  out.  "Believe 
me,  it's  quite  customary.  So,  if  you'll  proceed,  we  may 
get  somewhere." 

"Fm  very  glad,"  remarked  the  other  ambiguously. 

"And  why  should  you  be  glad,  pray?" 

"You  don't  recognize  me!     You  don't  know  me!" 

"No,  I  don't!" 

"No  recollection  of  me  at  all?" 

"Not  in  the  least!" 

As  the  other  man  arose,  Shevlin  heaved  himself  to  his 
feet,  ready  for  any  emergency.  His  would-be  client  was 
acting  suspiciously  like  an  escaped  lunatic;  a  nervous 
woman  could  not  have  trembled  more  violently.  Obvi- 
ously the  big  fellow  was  laboring  under  great  excitement. 

"Yes,  sir?"     Frank  encouraged,  and  that  was  all. 

As  if  struggling  out  of  a  hypnotic  sleep,  the  stranger 
drew  a  long  breath.  One  thin  hand  went  to  his  glasses, 
and  he  lifted  them  off. 

"I— I'm  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  Frank,"  he  uttered  with 
extreme  difficulty. 


276    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

After  that  neither  spoke  for  several  minutes.  Patrick 
O'Kelleron  was  awaiting  recognition.  Frank  Shevlin  was 
staring  into  familiar  brown  eyes,  eyes  he  had  believed 
closed  to  sight  forever.  He  stood  rigidly,  unable  to 
grasp  that  his  vision  had  not  played  him  false,  that  his 
ears  had  heard  aright.  But  that  steady,  warm  gaze 
belonged  to  none  other  than  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  the  boy 
he  had  dandled  on  his  knee  as  a  fat,  round  baby,  the  boy 
he  had  taught  to  swim,  to  fish,  to  shoot  and  a  thousand 
and  one  things  that  go  with  advancing  youth.  In  that 
palpitating  silence  he  recalled  a  passionate,  red-headed, 
fatherless  youngster  who  had  been  as  dear  to  his  child- 
less manhood  as  the  flesh  and  bone  of  another's  flesh  and 
bone  could  be.  He  swallowed  a  sob  and  leaned  against 
the  desk  inertly.  Patrick  O'Kelleron  had  risen  from 
the  dead!  Slowly  his  kindly  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
he  dropped  back  into  his  chair. 

"Pat,  boy!     Patrick!"  formed  on  his  stiff  lips. 

Instantly  Patrick  was  at  his  side,  and,  as  convention  is 
forgotten  in  the  bigger  moments  of  men's  lives,  his  arm 
went  around  Shevlin's  bent  shoulders. 

"Frank, — father!"  he  murmured  in  appeal. 

Oh,  that  heaven-born  word,  "Father!"  It  touched 
Frank  Shevlin's  spirit  like  a  benediction;  it  swept  away 
that  transcendent  sense  of  loss,  and  it  dried  his  tears. 

"God  sent  you  back  to  me,  son,"  he  murmured  thickly. 
"I'm  not — asleep — and  you  are  alive!  Why,  why, 
you're — my — boy,  my  Pat!" 

"Yes,  I  am  your  boy,"  brought  Shevlin  up  standing. 

"If  you  are  Pat,  who  was  the  man  buried  in  your 
family  vault,  I'd  like  to  know?"  he  demanded  with  a 
sharp,  involuntary  gesture.  "I — I  myself  attended  a 
funeral — "  His  voice  softened  as  he  abruptly  changed 
the  subject.  "Sit  down,  sonny.  Wait  a  second  while  I 
call  off  my  appointments  for  to-day." 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     277 

Five  minutes  later,  when  he  returned,  he  was  still  ex- 
tremely pale,  but  there  was  a  peacefulness  in  his  eyes  that 
had  not  been  there  since  that  day  he  had  stood,  weeping 
over  a  closed,  black  coffin.  Because  he  was  of  a  tem- 
perament that  always  gives  praise  for  God-bestowed  gifts, 
he  said,  on  sitting  down  at  his  desk: 

"I  feel  so  stirred  up,  Pat,  so  happy,  so  grateful,  right 
in  me  here,"  he  flattened  his  hand  over  his  heart,  "that  I 
can't  get  all  the  breath  I  need.  Tell  your  friend  what 
happened  to  you." 

"It's  hard  to  sort  out  just  what  did  happen  to  me," 
said  O'Kelleron.  "But  the  Butte  police  must  have  mis- 
taken Eddie  Blake  for  me." 

"Eddie  Blake!"  came  in  startled  tones,  and  then  again, 
"Eddie  Blake!  How— how— " 

"What  caused  his  death  I  don't  know,"  interposed 
Patrick  jerkily.  "He  might  have  killed  himself,  or  he 
might  have  been  blown  up  with  the  house." 

"But  you,  son,  you!  You  came,  and  I  didn't  recognize 
you." 

"No  wonder  you  didn't,  Frank!  I  couldn't  believe  I 
was  myself  when  I  came  to  my  senses.  I'd  been  weeks  in 
a  Chinaman's  hut.  I  was  told  that  a  couple  of  Chinese 
prospectors  found  me,  literally  full  of  holes  and  dying. 
My  voice  is  about  gone,  and  I've  lost  every  ounce  of  fat 
I  ever  had.  My  hair  fell  out,  too,  and  this — "  he  passed 
his  hand  hesitantly  over  his  thick,  dark  hair, — "this,"  he 
went  on,  "is  a  wig.  I've  got  red  fuzz  on  my  scalp  like  a 
new-born — ' 

He  stopped  in  his  explanation.  There  had  been  a  tinge 
of  whimsicality  in  his  tones  as  he  spoke  of  his  bald  pate, 
but  it  was  wholly  gone  when  he  burst  forth: 

"My  mother,  Frank!  Where  is  she?  And  Alex 
Clark—" 

"Nancy's  much  better  than  she  was,  old  man,"  inter- 


278     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

rupted  Shevlin,  rubbing  his  hands  together,  "and, 
goodness  me,  won't  she  chirk  up  now  you're  home?  But 
you'll  have  to  break  it  to  her  gently,  or  she'll  keel  over 
worse  than  I  did." 

Then  he  laughed  a  little.  He  thought  of  Nancy  over- 
whelmed— Nancy  weeping — Nancy  rising  in  the  bliss  of 
renewed  motherhood.  Then  another  lightning  picture 
came  into  his  mind.  A  solemn,  gray-eyed  girl!  Ah, 
Patrick's  wife!  And  he  sighed.  Would  Patrick's  com- 
ing back  lift  the  shadows  from  her  lovely  face  and  put 
again  the  spirit  of  youth  within  her  soul? 

"Do — do  you  remember  that  you — were  married,  Pat?" 
he  questioned  abruptly. 

A  hungry,  haunted  look  swept  into  the  brown  eyes 
that  were  studying  the  speaker.  Then  Shevlin  realized 
that  there  had  been  a  tragedy  in  the  Montana  mountains 
outside  of  that  appalling  explosion.  His  suspicions,  born 
of  what  little  Patricia  had  told  him,  were  confirmed. 
He  felt  strangely  sorry  for  his  pale,  young  friend  there — 
sorry  for  the  girl  on  Park  Avenue. 

"I  see  you  remember  it,  boy,"  he  commented  softly. 

"God,  yes;  that's  the  one  thing  I  do  remember,"  cried 
O'Kelleron.  "That's  what  sent  me  home  almost  before 
I  was  able  to  walk.  I — I  found  out  that — that  my  wife 
came  east — from  Alf  Carraby,  a  friend  of  mine  in  Butte. 
Where — where  is  she,  Frank?  Have — you — seen  her?" 

"Seen  her?"  repeated  Shevlin,  controlling  a  desire  to 
ask  questions.  "I  should  think  I  had  seen  her.  She's 
living  in  your  town  house  with  her  own  folks  and  your 
mother." 

The  signs  of  anxiety  faded  from  O'Kelleron's  face. 
It  was  as  though  many  nameless  dreads  had  met  sudden 
extinction. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  begged  at  last. 

It  took  considerable  time  to  repeat  the  happenings  in 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     279 

the  O'Kelleron  household  since  first  Patricia  had  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  When,  with  the  eloquence  of  a  well- 
seasoned  lawyer,  Shevlin  described  Mrs.  Clark's  condition 
the  night  he  had  been  called  to  O'Kelleron  Island, 
Patrick's  fleshless  jaws  snapped  together  in  a  rigid, 
angular  line  as  if  they  had  been  made  of  steel. 

"Damn  that  Alexander!"  he  growled.  "If  once  I  get 
my  fists  on  him!" 

Then  Frank  Shevlin  laughed  a  hearty  laugh  that  eased 
his  pain. 

"I  advise  you  to  go  a  little  light  on  poor  Alex,  son,"  he 
chuckled.  "Say,  Pat,  what  your  wife's  been  doing  to 
that  malevolent  skunk  is  a  plenty.  She  delivered  him  a 
piece  of  her  mind  a  mile  long!  And  she's  cut  him  down  to 
cigarette  money.  He  complains  she  doesn't  give  him 
enough  to  buy  liver  for  a  pet  cat.  Great  Scott,  I  laughed 
to  my  heels  while  she  was  tongue-lashing  him,  and  Alex — 
Well,  he  withered  under  her  gray  eyes  like  the  devil 
cringes  before  holy  water.  She  isn't  bigger'n  a  pint  of 
cider,  you  know,  but,  oh,  my!  Well,  Pat,  she  trimmed 
the  handsome  Alexander, — head,  wings  and  tail  feathers. 
The  best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  your  mother  was 
that  girl  looming  on  O'Kelleron  Island  with  your  will." 
His  face  assumed  a  sudden  gravity.  He  bent  over  and 
went  on  in  quieter  tones,  "I  really  believe,  if  she  hadn't 
showed  up,  boy,  you  wouldn't  have  had  any  mother  to  go 
see.  Nancy'll  chirk  up  now  you're  back,  though,  but 
you  must  be  prepared  for  a  great  change  in  her,  Pat.  I 
imagine  she'll  be  quite  herself,  which  she  hasn't  been 
since —  Well,  at  any  rate,  you  can  go  home  and  start  in 
where  you  left  off." 

Now,  what  had  he  said  to  make  his  big  boy  slump  over 
in  his  chair  like  that  and  look  as  if  he  were  ready  to  faint 
at  any  minute,  too? 

"Paddy?"  he  began  urgently. 


28o    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"I  can't  go  back  to  my  wife,  Frank,"  came  in  odd 
defiance  from  O'Kelleron,  "and  there's  not  the  slightest 
use  considering  it."  He  paused  and  turned  away  slightly. 
"You  can't  imagine  how  thoroughly  she  detests  me! 
I  remember — before —  I'll  tell  you  now  that  Eddie  Blake 
shot  me  in  a  quarrel  over  her." 

"Shot  you?"  echoed  Shevlin.  "What  in  the  world  hap- 
pened? She  did  tell  me  she  had  left  you  definitely,  but 
she  didn't  mention  Blake." 

"She  wasn't  there  when  he  came,  that's  why!  She'd 
been  gone — hours." 

Then  in  a  voice  scarcely  above  a  whisper  O'Kelleron 
told  his  story,  punctuated  with  many  pauses  and  lapses 
into  silence. 

"That  accounts  for  the  explosion  then,"  said  Shev- 
lin. "The  newspapers  spoke  of  dynamite  lugged  into 
your  house  by  a  servant." 

"So  Carraby  said,"  nodded  Patrick.  "He  saw  my  wife 
in  Butte  the  evening  before  the  explosion.  She  ran  away 
without  leaving  me  a  word.  I  must  admit  the  truth  to 
you,  to  myself.  She  simply  couldn't  bear  the  sight  of  me! 
Frank,  she  hates  me  worse  than  poison." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  demurred  the  lawyer. 

The  instant  he  had  voiced  his  doubt,  he  was  glad,  for 
his  boy  straightened  and  looked  more  hopeful. 

"She  never  told  you  she  cared  anything  for  me,  did 
she?"  was  demanded  of  him  huskily. 

As  though  he  were  trying  to  remember  something, 
Shevlin  remained  quiet.  He  was  half-tempted  to  lie,  and, 
after  lying  stick  to  it,  to  keep  the  glisten  in  the  brown 
eyes  that  were  searching  the  very  marrow  of  his  soul. 

"No,  I  can't  honestly  tell  you  that  she  did,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "At  least  I  don't  remember  it,  but  this  much  I  can 
say!  There  isn't  another  woman  like  her  in  the  world. 
She  takes  up  a  duty — " 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     281 

"But  I  won't  have  her  look  upon  me  as  a  duty,"  Patrick 
rasped  back.  "I  couldn't  stand  it,  Frank.  I  do  believe, 
though,  if  she'd  known  how  I  felt  about  her  brother — " 

"She  does  know  it  now,"  Shevlin  cut  in  with.  "I  told 
her  myself!" 

The  eager  statement  did  not  lessen  the  hurt  in  O'Kel- 
leron's  eyes,  nor  did  it  give  him  any  heart. 

"She  couldn't  bear  even  to  look  at  me!"  he  exclaimed. 
"It  sent  her  into  hysterics  whenever  I  asked  her  to.  And 
I — I — ,  like  a  blamed  fool,  kept  simply  imposing — "  He 
broke  off  but  continued  again  almost  immediately,  "If 
it  wasn't  for  clearing  up  Blake's  disappearance — " 

Some  hours  later  Patrick  O'Kelleron  registered  at  an 
uptown  hotel  as  "John  Hullworthy,  New  York  City." 


282     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  afternoon  subsequent  to  Patrick  O'Kelleron's 
arrival  at  Frank  Shevlin's  office,  Patricia  sat  by  herself 
in  her  sitting  room.  She  was  dressed  simply  in  black, 
her  widow's  weeds  corresponding  in  color  to  the  dearth  in 
her  soul.  Sometimes  love  and  longing  fetched  Stephen 
Claypoole  from  the  hills  of  Montana  so  near  that  she 
stretched  out  her  arms  as  though  to  greet  him.  Ever 
she  refused  to  visualize  him  in  the  O'Kelleron  vault, 
although  very  often,  swamped  in  bitter  loneliness,  she 
drove  to  the  cemetery  with  flowers.  But  she  always 
came  away  from  the  city  of  the  dead,  affirming  to  herself 
that  her  man  was  not  back  there  in  the  narrow  house. 

To-day  she  was  considering  and  reconsidering  her  ac- 
cumulated duties  that  had  broadened  her  activities. 

Occasionally  a  scrap  of  conversation  drifted  to  her 
from  the  room  across  the  hall  where  Mrs.  Clark  and  Yum- 
yum  were  engaged  in  fitful  talk.  Those  two,  Nancy  and 
her  own  wee  mother,  Patricia  called  her  "dear  babies," 
her  "little  children."  And  children,  indeed,  they  had  be- 
come, those  sorrowing  women,  grown  old  in  a  few  months, 
waiting  for  their  sons. 

Dear  Yum-yum!  Little  mother  in  a  darkened  world, 
feeling  about  for  a  loved  one  she  could  not  find !  As  the 
days  slipped  by,  Patricia  had  observed  that  strained, 
watchful  expression  become  habitual  to  the  blind  face. 
Yum-yum  was  eating  out  her  heart  for  Michael,  and  how 
often  and  with  what  suppressed  anxiety  did  she  ask  for 
him!  Time  after  time  his  letters  had  to  be  reread  to 
her,  those  precious  missives  she  fondled  by  day  and  tucked 
under  her  pillow  at  night. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    283 

With  the  keenness  of  the  unseeing,  she  sensed  that 
something  had  happened  to  Michael.  No  fabrications 
they  wove,  nothing  they  did,  drew  her  out  of  that  attitude 
of  tense  listening. 

No  wonder  Patricia  was  utterly  cast  down.  She  had 
spent  the  evening  before  with  Martin  Brewer,  and  to- 
gether they  had  examined  reams  of  paper  covered  with 
reports  from  the  detectives  who  had  endeavored  to  obtain 
new  evidence  for  Michael.  Money  had  been  spent 
freely  hi  this  manner  but  to  no  seeming  avail.  Two 
sleuths  had  occupied  Barney's  room  at  Cavendish's, 
poking  their  inquisitorial  noses  into  every  corner  and 
cranny  of  the  house  until  one  day,  at  a  warning  from 
William  Foster  that  they  were  not  actors  ouj,  of  work, 
Mrs.  Cavendish  had  given  them  their  walking  tickets. 
However,  the  report  stated  plainly  that  the  Foster  brother 
and  sister  could  not  be  inveigled  into  chummy  conversa- 
tions. They  passed  most  of  their  time  with  Alexander 
Clark  who  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  the  Forty-eighth 
Street  rooming  house.  Nothing  had  been  discovered  be- 
cause there  was  nothing  to  be  discovered. 

A  dreadful  thought  this,  that  made  Patricia  stumble  to 
her  feet  and  walk  restlessly  to  and  fro. 

The  ringing  of  the  telephone  bell  brought  her  out  of 
her  sad  reverie.  After  closing  the  door,  she  crossed  the 
room  and  took  off  the  receiver. 

Her  almost  uninterested  "Hello!"  was  responded  to  by 
Frank  Shevlin's  voice. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Shevlin,"  she  answered  eagerly.  "I'm 
glad  you  'phoned  me.  I've  been  intending  to  call  you 
since  morning." 

"Why?     Is  anything  the  matter?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"Yes!  Mr.  Brewer  showed  me  the  detectives'  reports!" 

He  heard  her  choke  and  uttered  a  few  unintelligible 
words.  Then: 


284    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"That  doesn't  say  something  won't  crop  up  when  we 
least  expect  it,  Mrs.  O'Kelleron,"  he  articulated.  "I'm 
most  sorry,  but  you  can  see  for  yourself  that  we  can't 
apply  for  a  new  trial  without  new  evidence.  Yet,  I 
wouldn't  feel  so  badly  if  I  were  you." 

"But  my  mother!"  Patricia  broke  in.  "Oh,  Mr.  Shev- 
lin,  she's  so  unhappy!" 

Again  she  ceased  speaking,  and  the  man  at  the  other 
end  of  the  wire  was  silent,  also.  At  length, 

"Are  you  there,  Mrs.  O'Kelleron?"  he  said. 

"Yes!     Yes,  Mr.  Shevlin!     I'm—" 

"Please  don't  do  that,  please  don't,  my  dear," 
he  urged.  "Say,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I  have  here 
with  me  an  extraordinarily  clever  young  fellow.  His  name 
is  John  Hull  worthy.  I'll  shoo  him  along  up  to-day,  and 
you  talk  to  him.  I've  known  him  for  years,  and  you 
can  place  all  confidence  in  him.  Anyway,  I've  been 
thinking  lately  that  I'd  ask  you  if  you'd  mind  some 
one  else  taking  hold  of  my  end  of  Patrick's  estate.  I'm 
terribly  busy." 

"Does  that  mean  that  I  won't  see  you  sometimes?" 
came  in  subdued  tones. 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  girl,  certainly  not!  If  I  can  do 
anything  for  you  at  any  time,  just  give  me  a  ring.  But 
Hullworthy  is  a  good  financier,  and  you'll  find  him  practi- 
cal. Here,  here!  Now,  don't — don't!  Things  will  turn 
around  for  the  better,  I'm  sure.  It's  always  darkest  be- 
fore dawn,  little  lady." 

When  Patricia  was  notified  by  Johnson,  the  butler, 
that  Mr.  John  Hullworthy  was  waiting  for  her  in  the 
drawing-room,  she  was  sitting  with  her  mother  and  Nancy. 

"Perhaps,  it's  something  about  Michael,  Paddy,"  sighed 
Yum-yum.  "He's  been  gone  almost  a  year." 

With  filling  eyes  Patricia  impressed  a  kiss  upon  her 
mother's  face. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    285 

And,  as  she  walked  down  the  long  flight  of  stairs,  a 
sort  of  terror  took  possession  of  her,  swaying  her  fiercely. 
She  passionately  insisted  that,  as  Michael  was  innocent, 
there  must  be  some  way  to  prove  it. 

A  very  tall,  thin  man  was  leaning  against  the  mantel 
when  she  entered  the  drawing-room.  He  was  so  absorbed 
in  thought  that  he  did  not  hear  her  soft  footfall,  and  not 
until  she  said  "Good  afternoon"  did  he  whirl  around. 

"You  are  Mrs. — Mrs.  O'Kelleron,"  he  stammered  in 
unmusical  tones. 

"Yes,  and  you're  Mr.  Hullworthy,"  she  returned.  "Mr. 
Shevlin  'phoned  me  you  were  coming,  and  you're  very 
welcome." 

Keen,  brown  eyes  behind  the  smoked  glasses  took  in 
her  slender,  black-robed  figure  in  one  glance.  Then  he 
bowed  over  the  slim,  white  hand  she  laid  in  his  broad 
palm. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  O'Kelleron!" 

His  voice  was  even  more  husky  than  before,  and  a 
little  rasp  in  the  shape  of  a  cough  cut  into  her  name  as  he 
pronounced  it.  He  gazed  at  the  lovely,  somber  face. 
Her  gray  eyes  were  shadowed  by  dark  circles,  and  she 
looked  very  weary!  He  would  have  given  anything  in  the 
world  to  know  what  her  memories  were  of  the  husband  she 
thought  dead  and  whether  she  ever  really  regretted  him. 

But  in  silence  he  took  the  chair  she  pointed  out,  and 
she  perched  her  small  self  in  the  corner  of  a  large  divan. 
His  eyes  grew  more  than  misty  behind  their  colored 
shields.  Truly  she  was  like  a  bird,  a  frail  young  creature 
who  had  beaten  its  wings  against  the  rocks  until  they  were 
bruised  and  broken.  His  heart  seemed  to  turn  a  somer- 
sault as  he  remembered  how  many  times  he  had  named 
her  "My  birdie!"  in  Butte.  With  self-upbraiding  he 
also  recalled  that  he  had  helped  to  implant  that  expres- 
sion of  sorrow  on  her  countenance. 


286    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Mr.  Shevlin  gave  you  some  information  about  my 
affairs,  I  suppose,"  she  began  presently. 

To  hide  his  twitching  muscles,  Hullworthy  bowed  and 
pressed  his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth. 

"Your  finances  I'm  fairly  familiar  with,"  he  responded. 
"This  morning  Mr.  Shevlin  turned  over  to  me  the  books 
of  the  O'Kelleron  estate,  but  he  said  you  had  a  private 
matter  you  wanted  to  discuss  with  me." 

"Yes,  I  have,"  she  admitted  slowly. 

The  great,  round  glasses,  shining  at  her  like  sparkling, 
dark  wine  in  a  white  bowl,  filled  her  with  a  desire  to  ask 
him  to  take  them  off.  He  was  such  a  big,  big,  solemn 
man  with  big,  big  spectacles,  that  she  stood  just  a  trifle 
in  awe  of  him.  Perhaps,  it  was  his  rigid  erectness  that 
made  her  study  him  speculatively  through  her  partly 
lowered  lashes. 

At  the  same  time  emotion  was  raising  ructions  in  the 
territory  about  Hull  worthy's  heart.  His  blood,  like 
streams  of  molten  lead,  was  warming  every  vein  in  his 
body.  Frank  Shevlin  had  facetiously  remarked  it  would 
not  be  an  easy  matter  to  keep  Patrick  O'Kelleron  in  the 
background.  Frank  had  warned  John  Hullworthy  to  be 
careful,  and  he  was  being  careful.  Was  he  not  sitting  as 
upright  as  a  stick,  his  tongue  tied  in  knots,  waiting  for  her 
to  say  something  else? 

But  she  did  not  seem  inspired  to  confidences.  She  had 
dropped  her  eyes  and  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply.  Now 
what  was  distorting  his  vision?  Oh,  nothing!  Nothing! 
He  was  only  plainly  seeing  that  the  thumb  and  fore- 
finger of  her  right  hand  were  twisting  a  ring — his  ring — 
slowly  around  and  around. 

"It's  a  splendid  old  room,  this,"  he  finally  managed 
to  say. 

"I  like  it,"  she  stated  simply. 

Now  to  business!     He  set  his  teeth. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     287 

"I'm  keeping  you,  I'm  sure,"  she  apologized,  "but 
I  scarcely  know  how  to  begin." 

"Is  it  so  hard?"  he  queried  lamely. 

She  sighed  like  a  tired  child,  and  Hullworthy  swore 
internally  at  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  That  gentleman  had 
been  on  the  verge  of  stepping  out  and  declaring  himself. 

"Yes,  it  is — very,"  she  replied,  and  she  moved  rest- 
lessly. "I  suppose  every  one  has  something  in  his  life 
that's  difficult  to  talk  over  with  strangers." 

And  was  that  not  so?  He  had  a  sealed  room  of  his 
own  which  he  had  not  unlocked,  even  for  Frank  Shevlin. 

"That's  true,"  he  agreed  with  a  stutter. 

"But  since  I've  been  sitting  here,"  she  went  on,  "I've 
decided  that  you're  just  the  man  to  help  me.  I  feel  it 
myself,  and  Mr.  Shevlin  said  so,  too." 

Here  was  the  chance  of  his  lifetime!  He  would  clear 
his  throat,  so  his  voice  would  not  sound  so  much  like 
the  croak  of  a  frog,  and  place  himself  and  his  entire  time 
at  her  disposal. 

She  slipped  to  her  feet  and  came  toward  him,  and,  as 
a  flock  of  birds  scatters  on  wing  at  a  strange  presence,  so 
his  thoughts  took  flight  at  the  vision  of  approaching  love- 
liness. 

"Please  don't  get  up,"  she  said  in  strangled  tones. 
"I'll  sit  down  again  in  a  minute.  But  I'm  very  nervous. 
I'm  horribly  upset  to-day." 

Forthwith,  not  experiencing  relief  in  walking,  she  sank 
into  a  chair  near  him.  He  was  positive  if  she  wept — and 
she  looked  as  if  she  were  about  to — he  would  never  be 
able  to  hold  O'Kelleron  within  bounds.  However,  she 
simply  sighed  again  and  tucked  a  stray,  dark  curl  into  a 
mass  of  other  dark  curls. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  cause  you  a  lot  of  bother  before 
we're  throueh,"  she  began  in  a  wistful  way,  "but  I'll  be 
ever  so  grateful  if  you  can  help  me." 


288    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"That's  my  errand  here,"  he  pointed  out  almost  gruffly. 

"I  have  a  relative  who's  in  serious  trouble,"  she  started, 
and  then,  to  Hullworthy's  consternation,  she  did  burst 
into  tears. 

Doggedly  he  clung  to  his  chair.  If  he  moved  an  inch, 
Patrick  O'Kelleron  would  go  plump  on  his  knees,  and  that 
would  end  everything. 

"Mr.  Shevlin  told  me  Mrs.  Clark  wasn't  at  all  well," 
he  interjected,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes.  "Forgive  me  for 
speaking  about  it  now,  but  I  was  intimately  acquainted 
with  her  son,  and  I  thought,  perhaps,  she  would  like  to 
see  me." 

"Of  course,  she  would,"  she  nodded.  "It  always 
does  her  good  to — to  see  her — her  son's  friends." 

She  had  ceased  weeping,  and  he  was  glad  of  it. 

"Do — do  you  love  her,  I  mean,  like  her?"  he  ventured 
scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

"She's  a  very  dear  woman,"  she  faltered,  "but  I  wish  I 
could  do  more  for  her.  In  health  she  seems  to  be  much 
better,  but —  Possibly,  Mr.  Shevlin  told  you  that  she  is 
obsessed  with  the  idea  that  her  son's  coming  back  to  her." 

"Yes,  yes,  he  did.  Could  I — do  you  think — I  could 
see  her  to-day?" 

Without  hesitation  she  stood  up. 

"I'll  run  see."  But  she  paused  in  her  flight  to  the 
door  and,  turning,  glanced  at  him.  "It  was  kind  of  you 
to  speak  of  Mrs.  Clark,  to — to  change  the  subject  so 
tactfully.  I  do  thank  you.  I'll  try  very  hard  not  to 
cry  any  more.  Excuse  me  just  an  instant." 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  she  returned,  she  found  him 
looking  at  two  oil  portraits,  his  thin,  white  hands  clasped 
together  behind  him. 

"Mr.  O'Kelleron's  parents,"  she  explained,  stepping  to 
his  side. 

"Yes,  I  know!"  was  the  throaty  reply.    "I  think  I  rec- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     289 

ollect  hearing  that  Pat's  father  died  when  he  was  quite 
young." 

"I  believe  so,"  she  agreed. 

While  she  was  resuming  her  seat  on  the  divan  and  ar- 
ranging the  cushions  at  her  back,  he  wiped  his  glasses 
without  taking  them  off. 

"Mrs.  Clark  was  very  much  excited  when  I  told  her 
about  you,"  she  broke  forth  finally. 

With  eagerness  he  demanded: 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  it's  so  sad — the  poor  dear!"  A  forlorn  shake  of 
her  head  accompanied  her  words.  "She  insisted  that  I 
come  right  down  and  bring  Patrick  up  to  her.  She  really 
scolded  me  a  little  because  I  told  her  you  were  not  her 
son  but  his  friend.  Mr.  Hullworthy,  I  never  have  the 
courage  to — to  talk  as  if  he  were  dead." 

She  checked  herself,  noticing  that  his  face  whitened 
and  that  he  was  strangely  moved.  It  came  to  her  that  he 
must  have  been  very  fond  of  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  Every 
day  she  ran  upon  new  proofs  of  how  much  her  husband 
had  been  loved. 

"What  you  told  me  about  your  relative  interests  me 
hugely,"  he  interposed  quickly.  "What  if  you  go  ahead 
with  it — now,  before  I  see  Mrs.  Clark?" 

The  sympathy  in  his  husky  voice  struck  clear  home  to 
Patricia's  heart. 

"I  will,  and  thank  you!"  she  ejaculated.  "Forgive 
me,  if— if— " 

Was  she  going  to  weep  again?  No!  Thank  Heaven, 
she  was  not!  But  he  felt  hurt  to  the  quick  when  she 
swallowed  desperately  a  number  of  times. 

"Yes?"  he  prompted  gently. 

"It's  so  difficult  to  talk  about  it  to  a— a  stranger," 
she  breathed. 

"Count  me  a — "  Patrick  O'Kelleron  very  nearly  popped 


out  "husband,"  but  after  the  thrilling  pause  John  Hull- 
worthy  spoke  the  word  "friend." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "There  are  three  of  us.  We're 
triplets,  my  brothers  and  I.  Michael,  the  youngest  of 
us,  is — is —  Oh,  Mr.  Hullworthy,  he  was  sent  innocent  to 
prison.  He  was  accused  of  a  crime  he  never  committed. 
We've  been  trying  to  discover  new  evidence,  but  so  far — 
we  haven't  found  a  bit.  There  must  be  a  clue  some- 
where!" 

Then  she  struggled  up  and  stood  before  him,  a  tragic 
figure  of  girlhood. 

"My  brother  being  innocent,  there  must  be  some  one 
who  is  guilty,  Mr.  Hullworthy!" 

Then,  because  she  wanted  to  conceal  her  feelings,  she 
turned  away. 

Emotion  shook  Hullworthy  like  a  gale  as  he  got  to  his 
feet.  Wherefore  Patrick  O'Kelleron  argued  that 
Patrick  O'Kelleron  could  accomplish  ten  million  times 
more  in  New  York  than  plain  John  Hullworthy  could. 
John's  retort  to  this  was,  that  if  O'Kelleron  had  not  been 
such  a  stupid  ass  in  Montana,  he  would  not  now  be 
staring  out  at  his  beloved,  his  eyes  swimming  behind  dis- 
figuring glasses. 

"That's  very  true,"  he  blurted,  "and,  if  you  wish,  I'll 
begin  directly  to  unearth  the  fellow,  whoever  he  is.  The 
first  step  will  be  to  talk  with  your  brother.  Can  you 
arrange  to  go  to  Ossining  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  sobbed  behind  her  handkerchief, 
"and  something  tells  me  in  here,"  and  she  laid 
one  small  hand  on  her  heart,  "that,  if  you  take  hold  of  it, 
he  will  be  free  soon." 

Then  there  fell  a  silence  which  seemed  difficult  for 
either  of  them  to  break.  At  length,  impelled  by  a  morbid 
desire  to  discuss  her  husband  with  her,  Hullworthy  put 
out  a  feeler. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    291 

"I  remember  your  brother's  trial  very  well,  Mrs.  O'Kel- 
leron.  It  was  conceded  by  men  who  followed  the  facts 
that  Mr.  O'Kelleron— " 

She  turned  upon  him  almost  fiercely. 

"Please  don't  mention  his  connection  with  my  brother 
at  all,"  she  nipped  his  tentative  investigation  in  the  bud. 
"I — I  find  I'm  happier  if — if  I  don't  talk  about — about 
my  husband." 

Agony,  shot  through  with  disappointment,  crushed 
Patrick  O'Kelleron's  hopes  and  reeled  John  Hullworthy 
back  on  his  heels.  He  was  thankful  then  that  her  face 
was  hidden.  Finally,  to  stay  the  storm  in  his  soul,  he 
asked : 

"May  I  go  and  see  Mrs.  Clark  now?" 

And  sighing,  she  consented. 


2Q2     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

As  Hullworthy  opened  the  door  for  Patricia  to  pass 
through,  Patrick  O'Kelleron  stated  a  dozen  good  reasons 
why  the  glasses  and  wig  should  be  thrown  off,  why  he 
should  be  permitted  to  look  into  his  wife's  eyes  and 
implore  her  forgiveness.  He  was  willing  to  do  anything 
rather  than  hold  merely  episodic  relations  in  the  grind  of 
settling  up  the  O'Kelleron  estate.  He  did  not  give  a 
hang  for  the  money.  He  would  make  over  all  his  posses- 
sions to  her.  He  would  assure  her  that  he  knew  she  had 
no  love  for  him;  he  would  not  even  mention  his  own. 

But  John  Hullworthy  was  persuaded  that  such  a  course 
would  be  fatal  to  his  chances  of  ever  again  entering  the 
house  and  the  presence  of  the  little  girl  he  was  following 
out  of  the  room.  He  would  rather  be  her  friend  than  the 
adored  lover  of  any  other  woman  living!  Oh,  paradise, 
to  be  near  her  daily,  to  watch  the  exquisite  movements 
of  her  hands  and  listen  to  her  lilting  voice ! 

"You'll  be  careful  what  you  say  to  her,  won't  you?" 
cautioned  Patricia,  as  side  by  side  they  walked  up  the 
broad  stairway. 

"Of  course — very  discreet,"  he  responded. 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  I'm  wicked,  Mr.  Hullworthy, 
because  I  keep  her  spirits  up  by  acting  as  if  Patrick  were 
alive?"  she  whispered,  when  they  reached  Mrs.  Clark's 
door.  "It  makes  her  happy  when  I  talk  about  him." 

So  unexpectedly  did  Patrick  O'Kelleron  bob  up  that,  if 
John  Hullworthy  had  not  been  on  his  guard,  the  fellow 
would  have  demanded  then  and  there  just  what  her  idea 
was  of  Mrs.  Clark's  son.  But  Hullworthy  contented  him- 
self with  observing: 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     293 

"Patrick  would  approve  of  that,  I'm  sure." 

"Then  wait  a  minute,"  she  answered. 

She  opened  the  door,  went  in  and  left  it  widely  ajar. 

How  the  sight  of  the  familiar  furnishings  whirled 
him  back  to  his  childhood!  There,  within  its  sanctity, 
he  had  come  in  boyish  joy  and  sorrow  for  maternal  praise 
and  consolation.  Now,  as  a  broken-down  man,  he  longed 
for  the  sound  of  his  mother's  voice  and  her  enfolding 
arms. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  her  sitting  opposite  another 
woman  in  the  bay  window,  her  now  quite  gray  locks 
showing  from  under  her  braided  cap,  he  put  out  a  hand 
for  support.  Frank  Shevlin  had  warned  him  to  be  pre- 
pared for  a  change  in  her.  But  such  a  change !  She  had 
none  of  the  high  bearing  which  had  made  her  conspicuous 
among  women.  Had  Alexander  Clark  been  in  his 
presence  at  that  moment,  Patrick  would  have  wreaked 
upon  that  rascal  some  of  the  fury  that  almost  strangled 
him. 

Tear-blurred,  he  watched  Patricia  glide  across  the 
room.  His  own  incompetency  showed  in  an  ugly  fashion 
as  he  saw  her  lean  over  the  dear  bent  figure;  not  even  by 
declaring  himself  now  could  he  stay  the  dissolution  that 
was  creeping  upon  it.  Deeply  agitated,  he  whipped  out 
his  handkerchief  and  cleared  his  glasses. 

"Now,  you'll  be  happy,  dear  mother,"  he  heard  Patricia 
say.  "Patrick's  friend  is  here  to  see  you." 

Then  turning,  she  smiled  at  him  and  held  out  her  hand. 

Somehow  he  stumbled  to  her  side  without  betraying 
himself.  He  was  blind  to  every  emotion  save  the  one  that 
nearly  prostrated  him  at  his  mother's  feet. 

"Darling,"  went  on  Patricia,  "this  is  Mr.  John  Hull- 
worthy.  He  is  very  fond  of  Patrick." 

Mrs.  Clark  peered  up  at  him  and  passed  one  feeble 
hand  across  her  near-sighted  eyes. 


294     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you,  Mr  Hullworthy,"  was  her  greet- 
ing as  he  pressed  her  fingers.  "I — I've  never  met  you  be- 
fore, have  I?" 

"I  think  not,"  mumbled  John,  scarcely  audible. 

"Now,  let  me  introduce  Mr.  Hullworthy  to  my  little 
Yum-yum,"  added  Patricia,  "and  then  we'll  have  a  nice 
chat.  My  mother,  Mrs.  Pepperday." 

To  guide  it  to  her  mother's,  she  took  his  hand  in  hers, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  the  tremor  that  ran  through  him. 

The  few  inarticulate  words  he  uttered  neither  she  nor 
Mrs.  Pepperday  understood. 

"Perhaps,  my  daughter  told  you  that  I  am  blind,"  Yum- 
yum  said  simply.  "Pardon  my  not  being  able  to  see 
you." 

Hullworthy  wanted  to  crave  pardon  for  himself.  He 
could  not  see  anything,  either,  through  the  tears  that 
blurred  his  spectacles. 

"May  I  sit  down,"  he  begged.  "I  should  like  to  stay 
a  little  while  if  I  may,  Mrs.  O'Kelleron." 

"Surely!"  she  accorded  him.  "Any  friend  of  Patrick's 
is  always  welcome  here.  Isn't  that  so,  Mommy  Clark? 
Now,  we'll  put  this  chair  right  over  near  you. — There, 
Mr.  Hullworthy! — I'll  sit  over  here  with  Yum-yum." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  established  herself 
on  the  broad  arm  of  her  mother's  rocking  chair. 

Then  there  fell  an  awkward  silence  which  Mrs.  Clark 
finally  broke. 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come,  sir!  I  suppose  you 
haven't  seen  my  Patrick  lately,  have  you?" 

A  quick  look  shot  from  Hullworthy  to  Patricia,  in  re- 
sponse to  which  she  shook  her  head.  He  crushed  the 
desire  to  fling  discretion  to  the  winds  and  cry  his  son- 
ship  so  all  could  hear.  He  forgot  for  the  instant  the 
prime  factor  in  the  plan  Shevlin  and  he  had  so  pains- 
takingly laid  out.  The  girl  on  the  arm  of  the  chair 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     295 

ceased  to  exist  for  him,  and  only  the  fear  of  the  shock 
the  denouement  might  give  the  dear  invalid  kept  him 
in  restraint. 

"My  son  came  once  since  they  said  he  was  dead,  when 
I  was  very  ill  on  the  Island,"  Mrs.  Clark  droned  on,  un- 
heeding the  fact  that  she  had  received  no  answer.  "He 
brought  Patricia  to  me  then.  He  promised  to  come  again, 
too.  Do  you  think  he'll  be  here  soon,  Mr.  Hullworthy?" 

This  time  he  took  his  cue  from  his  own  pumping  heart. 

"Yes!"  he  said  with  emphasis. 

"That's  good!  He  must  be  very  busy  not  to  come 
home  for  so  long.  Well,  boys  will  be  boys!  His  father 
said  that  once,  when  Patsy  was  three  years  old.  The 
naughty  child  had  dripped  ink  all  over  the  library  rug. 
Yes,  boys  will  be  boys,  Mr.  Hullworthy." 

Then  the  reminiscent  note  dropped  from  her  voice. 

"I  like  you,  sir!  I  wish  you'd  stay  here!  Somehow, 
you  seem  very  near  and  dear  to  me." 

While  Hullworthy's  dark  head  was  bent  over  Mrs. 
Clark's  hand,  Patricia  silently  used  her  handkerchief. 

"Patrick,"  murmured  Nancy,  smiling,  and  then  she 
hesitated.  The  eagerness  faded  from  her  face,  and  she 
excused  herself  by  saying,  "Ah,  pardon  me,  Mr.  Hull- 
worthy!  For  the  moment  I  thought  my  boy  was  here. 
I'm  getting  old,  and  my  mind  goes  astray  sometimes." 

"Why,  you  know  you're  getting  better  by  the  minute, 
Nancy,"  Mrs  Pepperday  chided.  "You  must  remember 
how  bad  off  you  were  and  not  expect  to  be  well  all  at 
once." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  I  know!  I  know  it,  wee  Yum-yum! 
But,  if  I  didn't  feel  sure  I'd  have  my  Patrick  soon,  I 
couldn't  keep  up  at  all.  The  days  seem  so  long,  and  I'm 
so  lonely! — Even  if  he  doesn't  write,  I'm  sure  he  loves 
me." 

And  she  began  to  cry  weakly. 


296    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

The  very  air  bristled  with  hysteria.  The  man's  bony 
frame  shook,  and  Yum-yum  gave  a  small  gasping  cry. 
There  is  no  telling  what  would  have  happened  just  then 
if  Patricia  had  not  moved  forward. 

"I  think,  perhaps,  dear  mother,"  she  interposed,  "Mr. 
Hullworthy  had  better  leave  now  and  come  again  some 
othef  time." 

But  this  did  not  agree  with  Nancy's  wishes  at  all. 
She  clung  to  the  large  hand,  lamenting  wordlessly. 

"Here,  dearest,  you  mustn't  cry,"  consoled  Patricia, 
unable  to  hide  her  own  feelings.  "Don't  you  know, 
when  you  sob  like  that,  you're  always  ill  for  a  day  or  two?" 

"I  want  my  sonny  boy,"  wept  Nancy. 

"Of  course,  you  do!  But,  darling  heart,  you  must  be 
good.  Let  me  wipe  your  eyes,  and  you  say  good-by — " 

"I  don't  want  to  say  good-by,"  came  in  a  wail.  "Let 
him  stay  with  me,  Paddy  dear,  until  Patrick  comes  back. 
Perhaps,  my  boy  will  be  here  tomorrow." 

"But  I'll  come  to  see  you  every  day,  Mrs.  Clark," 
offered  Hullworthy  thickly.  "That  is,  if  Mrs.  O'Kelleron 
approves." 

"If  the  little  mother  is  very  good,  you  shall,"  acceded 
Patricia.  "You  may  come  as  often  as  you  like.  Why, 
Mommy  Clark!  Oh,  you  mustn't,  you  simply  mustn't!" 
She  paused  and  laid  one  slender  finger  on  her  lip  thought- 
fully. Then,  "Well,  listen,  honey,  if  Mr.  Hullworthy  can 
spare  the  time,  he  may  stay  a  while.  Afterwards  you 
must  take  a  long  nap.  Doctor  Watkins  will  scold  us  to- 
morrow if  you're  worse." 

She  went  close  to  the  silent  man,  and  again  the  faint, 
delightful  odor  of  violets  fanned  his  nostrils. 

"Quiet  her,"  her  lips  framed,  and  she  passed  on. 

After  the  door  had  closed  behind  Patricia,  Hullworthy 
glanced  at  Mrs.  Pepperday,  who  sat  with  her  blind  eyes 
turned  towards  the  sunlit  window. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    297 

Of  a  sudden  he  dropped  to  his  knees  and  slipped  one 
arm  around  Mrs.  Clark  and  then  lifted  his  glasses.  With 
his  lips  pressed  against  her  ear,  he  whispered : 

"Mother,  dearest  dear,  I've  come  back!  Your  boy  is 
back,  my  own!" 

Nancy  ceased  crying  on  the  instant.  She  smiled 
beatifically  through  her  tears  and  let  her  head  fall  for- 
ward against  him. 

There  followed  no  sound  in  the  chamber  save  the  slight 
creek  of  Yum-yum's  chair  and  the  tick-tock  of  the  clock 
in  the  corner.  In  spite  of  the  monotonous  tale  the  pedu- 
lum  was  repeating,  time  ceased  for  mother  and  son. 

At  length  Nancy's  steady,  even  respiration  signified 
that  she  slept.  Carefully  he  laid  her  back  against  the 
cushions. 

Then,  crossing  to  Mrs.  Pepperday,  he  said  in  an  under- 
tone: 

"She's  asleep,  and  I'm  going  now!  When  she  wakes 
up,  tell  her  I'll  come  back  to-morrow." 

So  hard  did  Yum-yum's  eyes  look  at  the  speaker  they 
seemed  almost  to  pop  out  of  their  sockets. 

"I  heard  you  tell  her  you  were  her  son,"  she  breathed. 
"That  was  good  of  you!  We  always  agree  with  her  that 
he's  coming  back.  It  makes  her  happier." 

Two  drops  of  water  rolled  from  beneath  the  man's 
wine-colored  glasses,  but  the  blind  woman  heard  only  his 
long-drawn-out  sigh. 

"May  I  kiss  you,  Mrs.  Pepperday?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Pepperday  smiled;  she  liked  this  man  who  had 
poured  balm  on  Nancy's  heart  wound. 

"Of  course,  you  may,"  she  consented.  "You're  very 
kind!  Blind  folks  don't  need  to  be  told  that  a  person  is 
good.  They  know  it  without  telling." 

With  one  hand  on  his  cheek,  she  returned  the  pres- 
sure of  his  lips. 


298    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"Keep  your  head  down  here  a  minute,"  she  pleaded. 
"I  want  to  say  something.  Please  don't  tell  Patricia  I 
spoke  to  you  about  it,  though.  I  have  a  son,  a  dear, 
dear  son,  as  dear  to  me  as  Patrick  is  to  Nancy,  and  he's 
abroad.  But  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind  but  that  he's 
in  trouble.  Could  you  bring  him  to  me,  or  at  least  find 
out  about  him?" 

Like  a  child  she  laid  her  face  upon  his  hand,  and  he 
felt  her  warm  tears. 

"You  shall  have  him,"  he  promised  without  hesitation. 
"I  give  you  my  word  for  that!  Try  and  be  patient." 

Then  whirling  on  his  heel,  he  went  from  the  room. 

When  he  stepped  into  the  hall,  Patricia  arose  and 
spontaneously  thrust  out  her  hand. 

"Isn't  it  pitiful?"  she  choked.  "She  does  long  for 
her  Patrick  so!" 

"She  went  to  sleep,"  interjected  Hullworthy  hoarsely. 
"She  has  the  idea  in  her  head  that  I'm  her  son.  It  may 
have  been  wrong,  but  I've  quite  established  myself  with 
her  as — Patrick  and — " 

A  shrill  voice  from  the  music  room  cut  off  his  words. 

"Ma's  jaw  wags,"  it  squawked.  "Is  breakfast  ready, 
Fan?" 

As  a  slim  girl  scurried  across  the  reception  hall,  a 
parrot  balanced  on  her  shoulder,  Hullworthy  stopped 
short  on  the  stairs.  His  eyes  followed  the  slight  figure 
with  interest  until  it  disappeared. 

Aware  of  his  astonishment,  Patricia  explained: 

"That's  Fancy  Cavendish;  she  lives  with  us.  Poor 
baby!  She's  weak-minded.  To-morrow  she's  going  to 
my  aunt's  in  Balmville  to  stay  until  we  leave  the  city  for 
the  summer.  Doctor  Watkins  thinks  she  needs  coun- 
try air.  We  have  great  hopes  that  she  will  improve  both 
bodily  and  mentally,  for  Martin  Brewer —  Do  you  know 
Mr.  Brewer  at  all?" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     299 

"I've  heard  of  him,"  faltered  Hullworthy. 

"He  has  a  lame  son,"  she  continued,  "and  Mr. 
Brewer  has  discovered  a  surgeon  who  is  extremely  clever. 
Doctor  Blair  says  that  Benny — Benny's  Mr.  Brewer's 
son — and  Fancy  can  be  operated  on  after  the  hot  weather, 
and  that  they'll  both  be  quite  normal.  It's  so  wonderful 
to  think  about. 

"You'll  come  in  again  to-morrow  morning  before  we 
start  for  Ossining,  won't  you?"  she  queried,  smiling,  as  he 
reached  for  his  hat.  "Mommy  Clark  will  want  to  see 
her — her  Patrick  every  day  now." 

And,  throttling  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  John  Hullworthy 
almost  tumbled  down  the  front  steps. 


3oo    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


i  CHAPTER  XL 

MARTIN  BREWER'S  right  thumb  had  swiveled  around  his 
left  unremittingly  while  he  had  absorbed,  spell  bound, 
Adelina  Pepperday's  account  of  her  astonishing  adventure. 
In  a  breathless  ferment,  she  was  seated  opposite  him  on 
the  window-seat  in  the  O'Kelleron  drawing-room,  one 
palm  cupped  to  hold  her  chin. 

Since  she  had  flung  open  the  door  to  admit  him  and 
Frank  Shevlin,  Martin  had  been  thrillingly  cognizant  that 
she  was  amazingly  pretty,  with  the  blood  mantling  her 
cheeks,  her  eyes  lustrous  gray  and  radiant. 

Suddenly  he  was  electrified  by  the  thought  that  his  day 
of  reckoning  with  her  had  arrived.  Until  this  moment 
he  had  not  allowed  himself  to  reflect  long  upon  how 
essential  her  presence  and  friendship  were  to  his  happi- 
ness. He  had  not  dared ! 

In  Balmville,  when  he  had  discovered  that  Adelina 
meant  more  to  him  than  Patricia,  in  all  her  glorious  youth 
and  distinctive  beauty,  he  had  resolutely  drawn  back  into 
his  empty  life  without  a  word  of  explanation.  And  so 
he  had  become  used  to  stifling  his  hunger  for  her  by  stat- 
ing that  honor  must  ever  ride  in  advance  of  personal  de- 
sire. She  might  better  think  him  rakish  and  unstable 
than  find  herself  in  a  whirlwind  of  notoriety,  defense- 
less. Some  day  Benny's  part  in  the  killing  of  Fatty 
Funny  Breeches  would  become  public;  then  she  would 
understand  why  he  had  ceased  coming  to  her  home.  But 
in  the  same  breath  he  had  added  time  and  again  that 
Adelina  was  established  firmly  within  his  heart,  never 
to  be  supplanted  by  any  other  woman,  and  that  thought 
descended  upon  him  now. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    301 

"Aunt  Addie,"  he  began  feverishly  and  then  desisted  in 
his  overture. 

The  expostulatory  gesture  of  his  hands  and  his  voice, 
anguished  with  uncertainty,  made  her  turn  pale  and 
shrink  back  until  her  head  rested  on  the  stack  of  pillows 
propped  up  against  the  window  casing.  An  onslaught 
of  timidity  so  overcame  her  that  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment she  felt  that  she  must  spring  up  and  run  away. 

For  a  straight  ten  minutes  she  had  been  talking  in 
tremendous  excitement  and  had  forgotten  that  she  had 
vowed  never  to  speak  to  Martin  again.  With  a  deeper 
sense  of  the  self-abasement  that  had  seized  her  in  Balm- 
ville,  when  he  had  abruptly  discontinued  his  visits,  she 
lowered  her  lashes  and  remained  still.  She  was  as  positive 
now  as  she  had  been  on  that  epoch-making  day  that  a 
single  indiscretion  of  her  own  had  reacted  unfavorably  on 
his  conception  of  womanly  modesty.  Since  then  he  had 
neither  called  on  her,  nor  had  he  telephoned.  Humilia- 
tion had  untiringly  accompanied  her  wherever  she  went, 
and  the  longing  to  see  him,  to  explain  away  the  happen- 
ing, had  not  been  absent  day  or  night.  How  could  she 
have  been  so  far  oblivious  to  her  chaste  up-bringing?  But 
in  excuse  for  that  she  had  told  herself  that  it  was  her 
ignorance  of  worldly  wisdom  that  had  caused  her  to 
err. 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me  this  afternoon  when  you 
needed  help?"  came  to  her  ears,  just  as  she  was  particu- 
larizing the  occasions  when  her  fingers  had  tingled  in  his 
close,  warm  clasp. 

The  one  short  glance  she  flashed  at  him  disclosed  how 
pleadingly  he  was  scrutinizing  her.  Instantly  she  looked 
away. 

"Addie,  why  did  you  'phone  Frank  Shevlin  and  not 
me?"  he  insisted.  "It  hurt  me  to  get  the  word  from 
him  instead  of  you." 


302     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Useless  question!  He  knew  very  well  why!  She 
would  not  have  been  a  Pepperday  had  she  thought  of 
looking  to  him  for  masculine  protection.  And  it  was  all 
his  own  fault,  too.  Ah,  that  haughty  tilt  to  her  dark 
head  was  extremely  becoming,  or  would  have  been  if 
directed  at  another  man! 

"Addie,"  he  began  again,  like  an  embarrassed  boy,  "you 
haven't  forgotten  what  I  told  you  last  year  at  Balmville 
that— that— " 

His  words  raked  the  wound  still  fresh  in  her  heart. 
Her  assumed  frigidity  melted,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"I  shall  never  forget  it,"  she  returned  with  a  sad,  nega- 
tive gesture.  "Such  things  are  not  —  forgotten." 

Although  she  evidently  cared  enough  about  him  to 
admit  her  pain,  it  struck  him  like  a  crack  from  a 
whip  that  the  barrier  raised  by  his  own  seeming  neglect 
would  remain  an  insurmountable  obstacle  between  them. 
But,  as  "Never  say  die!"  is  the  length  and  breadth  of  all 
egotistical  love,  he  ejaculated: 

"But  you'll  forgive  me,  dear,  when  you  know  all 
about  it.  A  dozen  times  a  day  I've  been  on  the  point  of 
'phoning  you.  If  I  talked  until  Gabriel  tooted  his  trum- 
pet, I  couldn't  make  you  understand  how  I've  suffered." 

"I've  suffered,  too,"  she  murmured  faintly,  "and  I 
almost  perished  from  shame." 

"Surely,  not  because  I  kissed  you,  dear,"  he  interjected. 
"You  admitted  that  you  loved  me,  and  our  loving  each 
other  made  that  kiss  a  holy  one.  Now,  when  I  tell 
you — ' 

"I'd  rather  not  talk  about  it  any  more,"  she  interrupted 
fiercely  for  one  so  gentle.  "I  was  more  to  blame  than  you. 
Much  more!  I  believed  at  one  time  that  you  had  only 
imagined  that  you  loved  Patricia,  and  —  that  you  were 
fond  of  me.  I  know  very  well  now  what  changed  you. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     303 

Then  I  didn't  understand  —  men,  that's  all.  Now,  I  do! " 
She  caught  her  breath.  "I  beg  of  you  to  forget  all  about 
Balmville— " 

"But  I  don't  want  to  forget  about  Balmville,"  he  per- 
sisted passionately.  "I  want  to  remember  it  always. 
Addie,  let  me  hold  your  dear  hand  while  I  ask  you  some- 
thing." 

A  quick  throb  of  her  heart  contradicted  the  negative 
shake  of  her  head. 

"My  hand  shall  stay  just  where  it  is,  Mr.  Brewer!" 
The  touch  of  frost  in  her  voice  lent  an  air  of  unmistak- 
able decision  to  her  refusal. 

Some  men  are  irretrievably  overthrown  by  a  woman's 
denial,  but  not  so  Martin.  He  had  seen  his  error  and 
set  out  immediately  to  rectify  it.  If  he  could  not  in  all 
honor  ask  her  to  marry  him,  he  would  sue  for  a  comrade- 
ship such  as  he  had  experienced  that  short  time  in  the 
past.  He  eyed  the  small  fingers  he  coveted  and  noted  that 
they  were  so  tightly  clasped  that  their  nails  were  almost 
blue. 

"I  shall  ask  you  just  the  same,"  he  stated  doggedly. 

Bewildered,  she  glanced  up  at  him. 

"Addie,  would  you  stand  by  a  fellow  if  he  were  knee- 
deep  in  trouble?"  he  demanded  without  further  pre- 
liminaries. 

His  peremptory  interrogation  came  as  a  shock  to 
Adelina.  She  had  never  associated  trouble  with  him,  even 
in  the  slightest  degree. 

"Of  course,  I  would,"  she  assured  him,  startled. 
"You  know  very  well  I  would,"  and  he  had  known  it  in 
his  heart  of  hearts. 

"Ah,"  slipped  from  between  his  teeth  on  a  breath. 
"Yes,  I  believe  you  would,  Addie." 

"I'd  give  my  life  to  help  Michael,"  she  whispered. 

A  sudden  pity  seized  him  as  she  shuddered.     There 


304    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

passed  through  his  mind  the  vision  of  a  boy  in  a  shepherd's 
costume,  and  that  boy's  gray  eyes,  beautiful  in  uplifted 
purity,  stared  out  from  his  momentary  memory  of  "The 
Streams  Make  Glad."  Michael  Pepperday,  as  David,  the 
innocent  herder  of  Judea's  sheep,  was  as  innocent  now  as 
he  had  been  then!  He  wanted  to  lay  bare  his  cowardly 
conduct  to  the  little  woman  there  who  had  without  hesi- 
tation said  she  would  be  loyally  near  in  a  crisis.  Had 
the  lad  in  Sing  Sing  been  other  than  the  one  she  had  long 
ago  chosen  out  of  the  babies  three,  nothing  could  have 
held  back  the  divulgence  that  Michael  was  paying  to 
justice  an  unjust  debt. 

That  desire  was  but  little  less  than  his  wish  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  away  the  grief  that  had  puckered 
her  face  and  the  mist  that  insisted  on  clinging  to  her 
lashes.  What  would  she  do  if  he  boldly  produced  that 
secret  from  its  lurking  place  in  all  its  ghastly  ugliness? 

But  he  did  not  have  to  search  far  for  an  answer  to  that 
speculation.  Without  weighing  the  question,  she  would 
refuse  to  sacrifice  Michael  for  Benny  even  until  autumn, 
and  he  knew  also  that  she  would  not  give  him  an  hour's 
grace  in  which  to  prepare  a  defense.  For  a  moment  he 
followed  her  mentally  on  her  flight  to  the  State  to  demand 
her  boy.  It  was  seeing  himself  surrender  his  crippled 
son  at  the  gates  of  Sing  Sing  that  brought  him  to  his  feet. 
Never  before  had  he  directly  thought  of  approaching  that 
stronghold  of  stone  and  tears  to  leave  within  its  walls 
his  unhappy  child.  If  all  the  world's  innocents  were 
shackled  together  in  throngs  behind  prison  bars  for 
Benny's  guilt,  even  then  would  he  hold  his  tongue. 

Surely,  if  Adelina's  attention  had  not  been  directed 
elsewhere,  she  would  have  been  suspicious  of  his  desperate 
emotion.  But  she  was  looking  out  into  the  street  and 
had  caught  sight  of  John  Hullworthy  guiding  the  run- 
about to  the  curb. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    305 

"Goodness  me,  here  they  come  now,"  she  quaked.  "I 
don't  know  how  I  can  break  it  to  the  poor  child! — Oh, 
Martin,  tell  me  how  to  do  it!" 

So  easily  had  his  given  name  escaped  her  lips  that  she 
could  have  been  accused,  and  not  unjustly,  of  having  pro- 
nounced it  daily.  In  an  instant  he  responded  to  it.  Ten- 
derly he  helped  her  up,  nor  did  he  loosen  his  hold  on  her 
arm  when  she  stood  tremblingly  erect. 

"Steady,  now,  Addie,"  he  coaxed,  anything  but  steady 
himself.  "You've  been  such  a  brick!  There's  not  another 
woman  who  would  have  had  your  nerve." 

"But  I  didn't  have  time  to  think,"  she  told  him  with 
catching  breath,  "or  I  wouldn't  have  dared  to  have  done 
it,  and,  oh,  dear,  I'm  afraid  Fancy  and  I  maimed  him 
for  life." 

"He  deserved  much  more,  little  woman,"  he  reassured. 
"If  Shevlin  or  I  had  been  here,  he  wouldn't  have  walked 
after  we  were  through  with  him." 

The  outer  door  banged,  and  Martin's  hands  were 
fingering  the  lapels  of  his  coat  when  Mrs.  O'Kelleron, 
followed  by  John  Hullworthy,  rushed  into  the  room. 

At  the  sight  of  her  aunt  and  Martin  so  close  together 
and  so  badly  flustered,  Patricia  stopped  short. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  gasped.  "Why  are — those 
cars  outside?" 

The  color  going  out  of  her  face,  she  stood  in  hesita- 
tion, and  Martin  went  forward  a  pace. 

"Shut  the  door,  Mr. — Mr. — "  he  exclaimed  to  the  tall 
stranger  just  over  the  threshold. 

As  Hullworthy  turned  to  obey,  he  replied  in  low  tones: 

"Hullworthy's  my  name,  John  Hullworthy." 

"And  mine's  Brewer,"  rejoined  Martin,  "and  let  me 
present  Miss  Pepperday,  Mr.  Hullworthy. — Lady  Pat,  one 
car's  mine,  one  is  Frank  Shevlin's,  and  the  other  belongs 
to  Doctor  Watkins." 


3o6    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

He  had  spoken  coolly,  but,  still  apprehensive,  Patricia 
took  a  few  faltering  steps  toward  him. 

"But  why  are  you  all  here  at  once?"  she  queried,  quiver- 
ing. "Why  don't  you  tell  me  what's  happened?" 

Flashing  entreaty  from  one  to  the  other,  she  met 
Adelina's  gray  eyes,  and,  delaying  no  longer,  Miss  Pepper- 
day  flew  across  the  room  and  took  her  niece  into  her 
embrace. 

"Oh,  darling,  forgive  me,"  she  appealed.  "I  didn't 
get  here  on  time.  I  was  delayed  two  trains  because 
Miranda  had  a  boy  calf,  and  he  has  rings  of  white  all 
around  his  hind  legs,  and  Miranda's  as  proud  as  if  she'd 
had  twins." 

Patricia  kept  her  curiously  bright  eyes  upon  the  tremu- 
lous speaker  a  moment.  Then  she  began  deliberately 
forcing  her  aunt's  arms  from  about  her. 

"Let  me  go,  Aunt  Addie,"  she  said  tensely. 

"No,  you  mustn't  run  upstairs  now,  Paddy  pet,"  urged 
Miss  Pepperday.  "Come,  sit  down,  my  blessed,  and,  oh, 
don't  tremble  so." 

With  her  under  lip  between  her  teeth,  Patricia  stood  in 
doubt.  That  something  dreadful  had  occurred  while  she 
had  been  in  Ossining  with  Michael  was  apparent,  but 
Aunt  Addie  and  Martin  did  not  seem  inclined  to  tell 
her  about  it. 

Solicitous  to  shield  her  from  useless  worry,  Hullworthy 
spoke  to  Brewer. 

"Relieve  her  mind  immediately,"  he  said,  laying  stress 
on  his  command. 

"Well,  her  mother's  quiet  now,  sir,"  answered  Martin, 
"and  you  might  as  well  sit  down,  Patricia,  because  you 
can't  go  to  her  until  Doctor  Watkins  says  you  may. 
There  isn't  a  thing  you  can  do,  so  be  patient  and  listen 
to  what  your  aunt  and  I  have  to  tell  you.  There,  that's  a 
good  girl!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    307 

"I'm  sure  we  crippled  him  between  us;  Pat  dear,"  pro- 
tested Adelina,  sinking  down  beside  her  niece.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  hit  him  quite  so  hard — not  quite — and  Fancy 
struck  him  on  the  head  with  the  tongs!  She  was  so 
excited — " 

"Alexander  Clark  has  been  here.  He  was  on  the  eve 
of  removing  Nancy  and  what  valuables  she  had  from  the 
house  when  your  aunt  arrived,"  Martin  interrupted. 

A  wordless  ejaculation  fell  from  John  Hullworthy,  and 
his  large  hands  doubled  into  formidable  fists.  He  had 
turned  swiftly  toward  the  door,  but  Brewer's  next  asser- 
tion somehow  caused  him  to  change  his  mind.  What 
Martin  had  said  was: 

"Nancy  is  a  brave  woman.  You  may  all  believe  that! 
She  didn't  break  down  until  Alex  took  himself  off,  and 
now  Frank  Shevlin  is  with  her.  He  says  she's  as  right  as 
right." 

"Wait  till  I  tell  her  the  rest,  Martin,"  Adelina  cut  in 
impetuously.  "Paddy,  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for 
not  doing  as  I  said  I  would  when  you  'phoned  me  last 
night  about  your  going  to  Ossining.  I  intended  taking 
the  early  train,  but  I  didn't  on  account  of  Miranda." 
She  paused  to  wipe  her  eyes.  "Of  course,  when  I  got 
here,  I  used  my  own  key  to  open  the  door.  It  was  a  good 
thing  I  did,  for  there  wasn't  a  soul  who  would  have  let 
me  in.  Then  I  went  up  to  Nancy's  room,  and  there  she 
was,  all  dressed,  and,  oh,  that  brute — Well,  she  said 
afterwards  that  he  said  he  was  going  to  take  her  away 
with  him.  Why — why — he  actually  told  the  poor  dear 
that  he  would  have  her  declared  insane.  Think  of  it! 
He's  decided  to  divorce  Nancy  and  marry  that  Foster 
girl  who  lives  at  Cavendish's." 

The  horror  on  Patricia's  face,  intensified  by  the  slow- 
ness with  which  the  story  was  unfolding,  forced  Brewer 
to  interpolate: 


3o8    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"But  Nancy  wasn't  hurt  at  all,  Paddy.  Scared  a 
little,  of  course!  Shevlin's  going  after  Clark  as  soon  as 
he  leaves  here.  Alex  will  find  that  Nancy,  as  well  as  her 
property,  is  fast  held  away  from  him." 

"I  should  hope  so,  Martin!"  Miss  Pepperday's  eyes 
sparkled  angrily.  "Well,  honey,  as  I  was  about  to 
tell  you,  he  was  there,  taking  all  the  jewels  out  of  the 
safe,  when  I  appeared.  At  first  I  stood  right  still,  blink- 
ing, because  I  didn't  know  what  was  going  on.  Charlotte 
was  out  of  her  chair,  and,  when  she  screamed,  that  wicked 
man  sprang  up  and  knocked  her  down." 

A  half-smothered  cry  dragged  itself  from  Patricia's 
throat. 

"My  little  mother!"  she  groaned.  "Martin,  Aunt 
Addie,  don't  keep  me  away  from  her." 

But  Adelina  only  hugged  her  the  tighter. 

"Wait,  Paddy!  Doctor  Watkins  sent  Martin  and  me 
away,  and — and  she's  better  now,  I'm  sure,"  she  soothed. 
"That  Clark,  Paddy,  he  has  a  regular  pussy-cat  smile. 
He  didn't  notice  me  until  after  he  had  struck  your  mother. 
Then  he  began  slipping  toward  me,  grinning  from  ear  to 
ear." 

So  near  was  she  to  a  complete  breakdown  that  Martin 
encouraged  her  by  saying : 

"But  it  was  mighty  fortunate  you  fetched  your 
umbrella  with  you,  Addie!" 

Then,  indeed,  did  Adelina  rise  up  in  righteous  wrath. 
A  quiver  passed  around  her  lips,  but  her  eyes  became  the 
color  of  granite  in  her  response. 

"Fortunate,"  she  choked.  "It  was  more  than  that, 
Martin !  Why,  Paddy,  I — I  gave  him  a  thud  on  the  nose 
with  the  handle  of  your  grandfather's  umbrella.  I  meant 
to  say,  two  thuds,  maybe  three.  And  all  the  while  I  was 
thanking  my  good  Heavenly  Father,  and  I  thank  Him 
now,  for  clouding  the  sky  this  morning.  I  said  to  myself, 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    309 

'Adelina,  remember  your  pious  father's  words/  'If  there 
isn't  blue  enough  to  make  a  sailor  a  pair  of  breeches,  go 
prepared  for  rain,'  and  there  wasn't,  and  I  did." 

"But  Yum-yum?"  broke  in  Patricia,  sensible  only  of 
her  own  bitter  anxiety.  "Where  was  she  all  the  time?" 

"Oh,  my  dear, — my  dear,"  Adelina  sobbed,  "you've 
never  heard  anything  like  it!  She  was  shrieking  for 
Michael  till  I  thought  the  neighbors  would  hear  her,  and 
she  just  wouldn't  stop. 

"But,  as  much  as  I  wanted  to  comfort  her,  dear,  I 
couldn't  then  because  Fancy  Cavendish  was  beating  Alex- 
ander's head  with  the  tongs.  Poor  child,  she  had  quite 
lost  control  of  herself,  and,  if  I  hadn't  interfered,  I  don't 
know  what  would  have  happened  to  him.  As  it  was,  he 
could  scarcely  get  down  the  stairs." 

"But  the  servants,  Miss  Pepperday?"  ejaculated  Hull- 
worthy  sharply.  "Mr.  Brewer,  where  were  the  serv- 
ants?" 

In  explaining  this,  Martin  said  that  the  butler  had 
gone  away  on  an  errand  for  Patricia,  and  at  the  end  of 
a  revolver  Alexander  had  marshalled  the  female  servants 
into  the  laundry  and  locked  them  in  until  Miss  Pepper- 
day  had  released  them. 

He  was  adding  to  Adelina's  narration  of  Mrs.  Pepper- 
day's  collapse  when,  to  every  one's  relief,  Doctor  Watkins 
opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 


310    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE  greetings  between  Doctor  Watkins  and  the  quar- 
tette of  nerve-racked  people  were  mere  acknowledgments 
of  each  others'  presence.  In  the  center  of  the  room  he 
stopped  short,  his  handkerchief  running  over  his  eye- 
glass lenses  in  palpable  indecision.  Then, 

"I'm  at  my  wits'  end,"  he  uttered,  with  a  dubious  shake 
of  his  head. 

Such  a  hackneyed  phrase  from  a  man  so  voluble  of 
speech  as  Archibald  Watkins,  augured  that  it  was  the 
forerunner  of  bad  news. 

Several  times  he  broke  the  silence  that  followed  with 
a  cough  and  once  embarrassedly  used  his  handkerchief. 
It  was  evident  that  he  was  having  an  inward  struggle  to 
regain  his  professional  aplomb. 

"I  can  hardly  persuade  myself,  Miss  Pepperday,"  he 
began  in  a  deprecatory  manner,  "that  you  informed  your 
sister-in-law  that  her  son,  Michael,  would  be  in  from 
abroad  to-morrow?"  He  hurled  the  conclusion  of  his 
words  straight  at  Adelina  interrogatively. 

"Of  course,  she  didn't,"  Patricia  exclaimed  swiftly. 
"Certainly  not!  My  aunt  wouldn't  think  of  doing  that." 

"But  I  did,  Paddy,"  Adelina  admitted.  "Of  course  Char- 
lotte didn't  believe  me,  Doctor  Watkins.  I  only  told  it 
to  quiet  her.  She  didn't  believe  one  word  of  it. 
Charlotte  isn't  as  silly  as  that!"  and  then  she  repeated, 
as  though  she  were  talking  to  herself,  "She  didn't  believe 
a  single  word  of  it." 

Even  the  confidence  her  voice  gathered  as  she  talked 
made  no  impression  on  the  physician.  He  was  just  fresh 
from  Charlotte  Pepperday 's  bedroom.  He  knew  what  he 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    311 

knew,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  put  the  matter  in  an  open 
light  before  her  family. 

"That's  where  you're  mistaken,  Miss  Pepperday,"  he 
protested  seriously.  "I'm  sorry  to  have  to  insist  that  she 
certainly  does  believe  it." 

"But  Michael  can't  come,  Aunt  Addie,"  cried  Patricia 
in  tragic  accents.  "You  know  that,  dear! — How  could 
you  tell  her  such  a  thing." 

Instantly  Adelina  arose,  and  a  few  unsteady  steps  took 
her  to  Doctor  Watkins'  side. 

"I'll  explain  just  how  it  came  about,"  she  quivered 
hysterically.  "You  see,  she  screamed  for  him  so,  I  had 
to  tell  her  something."  Then  she  wheeled  around  to 
speak  to  Patricia.  "Paddy,  she  wouldn't  listen  when 
I  said  you'd  be  home  shortly  and  that  Barney  would  be 
in  soon  from  rehearsal.  Oh,  darling  child,  — "  Her  voice 
broke,  sank  to  a  whisper  and  discontinued. 

The  pencil,  tapping  against  Doctor  Watkins'  teeth,  sent 
staccato  sounds  through  the  silence.  Never  before,  as  he 
had  expressed  himself  to  Shevlin,  had  he  faced  such  a 
dilemma. 

Yet,  somehow,  he  must  cut  the  Gordian  knot  and  set  to 
rights  the  chaos  into  which  his  patient  had  been  pitched 
head  foremost.  In  his  opinion  Charlotte  Pepperday's 
feeble  frame  held  a  soul  a  saint  might  envy.  Not  only 
his  professional  skill  but  a  very  pronounced  personal  pre- 
dilection were  engaged  in  her  behalf.  His  sympathy  went 
out  to  Adelina,  too.  The  recollection  of  his  own  struggle 
with  the  blind  woman  made  it  quite  easy  to  find  excuses 
for  the  falsehood  that  had  been  told. 

"However,  dear  lady,  don't  feel  so  badly  at  what  you've 
done,"  he  said.  "There!  There!  Sit  down  again,  and 
listen  to  what  I  must  say." 

His  touch  was  very  tender  as  he  laid  his  hand  on 
Adelina's  arm.  She  was  crushed  with  such  a  weakness 


312     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

that  she  was  thankful  for  the  chair  which  Archibald  set 
out  for  her. 

"Perhaps,"  she  commenced  feebly,  "I'd  better  go  up 
and  tell  her  that  I—" 

"I  beg  of  you  not  to  do  that,  Miss  Pepperday,"  the 
physician  cut  in.  "It  would  never  do." 

If  there  were  a  clue  to  the  labyrinth  in  which  they  were 
all  groping,  certainly  he  did  not  expect  her  to  supply  it. 

"Mrs.  O'Kelleron,"  he  ventured  after  a  while,  "your 
mother  has  had  a  severe  shock.  In  all  my  practice  I've 
never  known  a  case  like  this.  Considering  her  condition, 
it  was  most  unwise  to  make  her  a  promise  impossible  to 
keep,  especially  one  so  vital.  But,  of  course,  I  don't 
want  to  place  too  much  blame  on  Miss  Pepperday.  I 
feel  sure  that  at  the  time  she  never  imagined  the  serious 
outcome  of  raising  false  hopes." 

Humanity  was  one  of  Archibald  Watkins'  chief  assets. 
Moreover,  he  knew,  without  being  told,  that  Adelina  did 
not  need  censure  from  him.  She  was  suffering  enough 
without  it. 

"I'm  sure  that  you  didn't  mean  any  harm,  Miss  Pepper- 
day,"  he  said  lamely. 

"But  I  can't  see  what  got  into  me  to  tell  her  that  yarn," 
came  from  her  in  distraction.  "If  anything  happens  to 
little  Charlotte,  Michael  will  never,  never  forgive  me! 
What  have  I  done  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

More  to  herself  than  to  any  one  in  the  room  did  she 
make  her  last  appeal.  She,  Aunt  Addie  to  the  three  most 
beautiful  children  in  the  world,  had  brought  upon  them  a 
calamity  awful  in  its  possibilities. 

"My  baby,  my  Michael,  my  own,  own  boy,"  came  in  a 
whisper  from  her  lips. 

Then  it  was  that  Patrick  O'Kelleron  almost  jumped 
into  the  tragedy  himself.  John  Hullworthy  was  a  new- 
comer in  this  afflicted  home;  no  matter  how  much  he 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    313 

wanted  to  soothe  its  sorrowing  mistress,  he  had  neither  the 
standing  nor  the  ability  to  do  it. 

However,  when  Patricia  struggled  to  her  feet,  he  ven- 
tured to  touch  her  arm. 

Without  paying  any  attention  to  him  except  to  shake 
off  his  hand,  she  centered  an  intense  regard  on  Doctor 
Watkins. 

"Will  she — she  die?"  she  stammered  with  livid  lips. 
"Oh,  Doctor  Watkins,  tell  me — do  tell  me  the  truth!" 

"I  certainly  will,  my  child,"  was  his  gentle  reply.  "I'm 
always  truthful  to  my  patient's  relatives.  That's  one 
rule  to  which  I  hold  strictly.  Your  mother  is  too  weak 
to  be  told  that  she  cannot  have  her  son.  As  I've  said 
before,  I'm  at  my  wits'  end." 

When  Adelina  turned  her  wistful  face  to  Martin,  a 
sharp  pain  shot  through  his  heart. 

"Martin  dear,"  her  lips  framed.  At  least,  if  he 
had  not  heard  the  words,  her  woe-begone  eyes  pulled  at 
him  like  a  magnet  at  steel.  He  left  his  seat  and  drew  a 
chair  up  to  her  side. 

"My  dear,"  he  exclaimed  miserably,  "you  did  it  for  the 
best,  and  no  one  can  doubt  it." 

At  that  she  turned  her  head  and  wept  softly.  She 
could  not  deny,  however,  that  she  was  a  wee  bit  comforted 
when  he  covered  her  shaking  hand  with  fingers  strong 
and  warm. 

That  there  was  no  best  about  the  situation  was  not 
only  expressed  in  the  doubtful  shake  of  the  doctor's  head, 
but  he  said  so. 

"It  would  be  quite  evident  to  all  of  you  if  you  had  the 
smallest  conception  of  the  savage  spell  Mrs.  Pepperday 
has  had  with  her  heart,"  he  continued  with  reluctance, 
"and  it's  my  firm  belief  that  she  is  holding  on  by  the  very 
slender  thread  of  hope  that  her  son  will  be  here  to- 
morrow." 


314    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Many  times  in  Martin's  long  and  arduous  "God 
save  'em! "  work,  he  had  held  a  woman's  hand  to  help  her 
over  rough  places,  but  never  had  he  been  so  touched,  so 
hurt  in  a  vital  way.  Yet,  Adelina's  clutch  thrilled  him. 
She  had  forgiven;  she  had  forgotten. 

"But  can't  you  make  some  excuses  to  Mrs.  Pepper- 
day?"  he  asked  the  doctor.  "Have  the  boat  Mike's  sup- 
posed to  be  on  held  up  at  sea,  or  something  like  that." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Brewer,  I  would  if  I  could,"  the  physician 
replied,  curiously  affected,  "but  even  that's  out  of  my 
power.  I  haven't  the  smallest  excuse.  The  poor  soul 
believes  that  the  ship  has  been  docked." 

Every  pulse  in  Patricia's  body  bounded  at  his  avowal. 
The  last  prop  which  could  hold  up  the  frail,  blind  mother 
had  been  hacked  away  ruthlessly.  She  entertained  no 
reproach  for  Adelina,  no  condemnation  for  any  person 
living.  Her  bosom  was  burningly  full  of  sympathy  for 
Yum-yum.  With  tragic  pathos  she  crossed  to  the  speaker. 

"You  must  do  something  for  her,"  she  breathed,  white- 
lipped.  "Oh,  something  must  be  done,  Doctor  Watkins! 
It  must  be!" 

"I  can't  see  what,  my  dear,"  he  answered  sadly,  "but 
now,  listen  to  me!"  and  he  took  her  cold,  limp  hand. 
"I'm  not  prophesying  that  she  won't  get  well.  What  I 
said  was  that  her  disappointment,  when  she  finds  that  her 
son  doesn't  come  home,  might  prove  fatal — only  might, 
mind  you!  I  want  you  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst. 
She's  very  weak  and  physically  unable  to  support  another 
shock." 

His  voice  ceased,  and  poignant  stillness  fell.  How,  as 
a  reputable  physician,  could  he  bolster  up  hope  in  the 
daughter  who  looked  as  if  some  relentless  hand  had  dealt 
her  a  death  blow.  Heaven  knew  he  would  if  his  con- 
science had  been  less  exacting.  Surely,  he  was  at  his  wits' 
end.  Motionless,  he  watched  Patricia.  She  was  no 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    315 

longer  trembling,  but  her  gray  eyes  burned  like  coals 
fanned  by  an  inward  flame.  She  was  studying  him  with 
an  expression  he  could  not  fathom.  This  was  one  of  the 
times  when  he  wished  he  were  anything  but  physician-in- 
chief.  He  looked  down  into  the  girlish  face,  so  thin  and 
colorless,  and  stretched  his  lips  to  smile.  But  he  groaned 
inwardly,  convinced  the  concern  which  twisted  his  mouth 
awry  only  added  to  her  wretchedness. 

"Poor  child,"  he  said,  unnerved. 

Then,  "Michael  can  come  home  to-morrow,"  she  as- 
serted with  difficulty. 

The  impossible  fruition  of  her  statement  fetched  a  cry 
from  Adelina.  Irresolutely  Doctor  Watkins  shook  his 
head.  Women  got  queer,  unreasonable  notions  at  times, 
but  who  could  blame  this  poor  girl  if  she  left  no  stone  un- 
turned in  her  effort  to  help  her  mother? 

"You  mustn't  expect  that  of  the  State,  Mrs.  O'Kel- 
leron,"  he  told  her.  "The  fact  is,  on  a  chance  I  begged 
Shevlin  to  get  the  lad  a  leave,  but  he  said  it  couldn't  be 
done.  At  any  rate  it  would  be  useless  to  bring  him  here 
for  a  day  or  two.  But  even  if  that  could  be  accomplished, 
the  excitement  of  a  short  visit  merely  —  No,  Mrs.  O'Kel- 
leron,  in  that  event,  in  justice  to  myself,  I  must  ask  to  be 
relieved  of  responsibility.  Heaven  knows  I  want  to  give 
her  every  opportunity,  but —  Now,  I'll  run  upstairs  and 
have  a  look  at  my  patients.  And  in  the  meantime  I 
hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  think  of  something  that  will 
give  that  poor  little  woman  a  chance  for  her  life." 

And  he  whisked  out  of  the  room. 


3i6    THE    MARRIAGE   OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XLII 

OPPRESSIVE  was  the  quiet  after  the  door  had  closed. 
Neither  the  departure  of  the  physician  nor  the  quick  snap 
of  the  latch  impressed  Patricia  in  the  least.  She  stood 
in  the  same  spot,  holding  the  same  posture  of  immobility. 
Any  conversation  among  the  other  three  was  silenced. 
How  could  they  conjecture  aloud  on  the  probability  of 
Michael's  coming  home  as  she  had  stated  when  she 
seemed  to  have  left  them  in  spirit? 

Something  very  like  panic  grew  in  Hullworthy's 
breast.  On  the  way  down  the  river  he  had  expressed 
his  ardent  conviction  that  her  brother  was  an  innocent 
man  and  had  based  sanguine  hopes  that  he  would  soon 
be  at  liberty  on  the  principle  that  truth  cannot  forever  be 
hidden.  Of  course,  reliance  on  his  statements  had  in- 
fluenced her  when  she  had  said,  "Michael  can  come  home 
to-morrow." 

To  wrench  the  lad  from  prison  under  present  circum- 
stances would  not  be  a  whit  more  feasible  for  him  than 
to  heave  the  earth  out  of  its  orbit  by  the  pressure  of  his 
own  shoulder.  As  John  Hullworthy,  he  was  helpless;  as 
Patrick  O'Kelleron— 

When  he  had  covered  the  space  between  them,  Patricia 
stirred  and  glanced  up  at  him.  He  almost  lost  his  bal- 
ance when  he  saw  how  ravaged  she  had  become  in  the 
last  few  minutes. 

"Sit  down,  child,"  he  murmured  brokenly. 

A  stiffening  of  her  whole  body  accompanied  her  gesture 
of  dissent. 

"No,  no,  I  can't  sit  down,"  she  returned  with  sudden 
vehemence.  "I've  something  to  tell  Martin  and  Aunt 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    317 

Addie, — you,  too,  and — and  it'll  be  easier  if  I  stand  up." 

For  a  moment  she  became  quite  incoherent,  tearless 
sobs  shaking  her. 

"I've  been  very — very — wicked,"  she  choked. 

Her  stammering  confession  brought  Brewer  to  his  feet. 
Her  lovely  face,  pinched  with  tragic  wretchedness,  and 
her  eyes,  widened  with  horror,  struck  him  as  out  of  pro- 
portion to  any  childish  indiscretion  that  might  have  been 
on  her  tender  conscience. 

In  that  anticipatory  lull  she  lifted  one  hand  feebly, 
and  John  Hullworthy  caught  it.  Then  he  passed  through 
all  the  pangs  of  hell  as  she  clung  to  him.  Yes,  he  had 
seen  her  suffer  before  in  those  cruel  Montana  days,  but 
nothing — nothing  like  this. 

Once,  twice,  a  third  time  she  attempted  to  speak,  but 
her  cramped  throat  refused  to  make  an  audible  sound. 

"My  dear,  my  dear,"  he  groaned  huskily,  not  remem- 
bering that  she  had  met  John  Hullworthy  but  yesterday. 

Oh,  the  richness  of  sympathy  in  his  four  short  words! 
There  was  drawn  from  her  torn,  inmost  heart  an  over- 
mastering gratitude.  This  tall  stranger  suddenly  became 
the  rock  of  Yum-yum's  salvation  and  the  deliverance  of 
the  King  of  the  Pepperdays.  She  had  forgotten  Martin 
and  Adelina,  forgotten  everything  but  that  she  had  a  story 
to  tell  John  Hullworthy.  He  would  listen — he  would 
understand ! 

"Michael  isn't  going  to  stay  in  Sing  Sing  any  longer!" 
she  asserted  tremulously.  "He  didn't  kill  Arthur  Brown! 
I— I  did!" 

If  a  bomb  had  plunged  through  the  window  from  Park 
Avenue,  and  Patricia  had  been  directly  in  its  course, 
Adelina  and  Martin  could  not  have  been  more  sponta- 
neous in  their  rush  toward  her. 

John  Hullworthy  was  rooted  to  his  place,  rendered 
mute  before  the  tide  of  destruction  that  threatened  them, 


318    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

but  dully  denying  that  this  hideous  idea  could  become  a 
reality. 

Then  the  loving  heart  of  the  Pepperdays'  Aunt  Addie 
was  overcome  by  its  weight  of  woe.  No  longer  able  to 
stand,  she  shrank  away  to  hide  her  grief  in  the  cushions 
of  the  divan. 

Brewer's  mind  shot  to  Benny.  What  if — if  she  were 
speaking  the  truth,  and  the  boy  knew  it!  Would  that 
account  for  his  hysterical  reticence?  But  was  she?  He 
forced  himself  to  stand  very  still  and  hold  his  thoughts 
in  command.  To  steady  himself,  he  laid  his  hand  on  a 
chair  back.  Then  he  compelled  his  gaze  to  stay  upon 
her  pallid  countenance. 

All  of  a  sudden  into  his  consciousness  there  leaped  one 
of  those  luminous  intuitions,  the  like  of  which  had  guided 
him  to  truth  when  he  had  sought  to  solve  almost  unsolv- 
able  questions.  Lady  Pat  was  lying! 

She  had  virtually  given  herself  up  for  a  deed  that  he 
was  reasonably  certain  his  own  son  had  committed.  To 
stand  by  and  allow  a  woman  to  make  such  a  claim,  to 
keep  silent  even  to  save  his  idolized  boy, — Great  God,  he 
could  not  be  guilty  of  that!  He  sent  a  searching  glance  at 
Adelina.  She  was  but  a  heap  among  the  pillows.  Then 
to  the  man  standing  near  Patricia  his  gaze  moved.  Of 
them  all  Hullworthy's  lean  countenance  held  the  least 
color,  its  extreme  pallor  accentuating  his  strong  jawline. 

As  if  she  were  coming  out  of  a  subconscious  trance, 
Patricia  sighed  again  and  spoke: 

"Oh,  how  have  I  lived  with  my  Michael  in  prison — in 
that  awful  place  for — for  what  I  did  myself! "  She  broke 
off,  breathing  spasmodically.  "I  don't  know  how  I  did 
it.  I— I—' 

Perplexed,  she  was  floundering  helplessly  when  Martin 
caught  her  darkly  glowing  eyes  and  held  them.  In  those 
pools  of  stone-gray  there  shone  a  high  resolution  which 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    319 

drew  from  him  a  smothered  ejaculation.  Human  nature 
had  always  been  an  open  book  to  him.  He  had  turned 
its  pages  and  read  its  problems  as  a  boy  recites  two  and 
two  are  four.  So  did  he  know  the  attributes  of  the  God- 
head. In  his  sight  Paddy  Pepperday  had  suddenly  be- 
come sanctified.  On  her  pale  face  was  stamped  sub- 
lime sacrifice. 

"I  was  cowardly  and,  oh,  so  terribly  afraid,"  he  heard 
her  falter  on.  "When  they  accused  Michael,  I  let  them 
do  it.  I  couldn't  make  myself  say  a  word.  I  tried  to. 
I — I  think  that  was  what  made  me  so  ill." 

In  order  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of  Brewer's  keen-eyed 
surveillance,  she  faced  about  and  addressed  the  other 
man. 

"I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  Mr.  Hullworthy!  Of 
course,  you  can  see  I  couldn't!  Oh,  it's  haunted  me  for 
so  many,  many  months! " 

Instinctively  she  edged  a  step  nearer  him. 

"You — you  said  you'd  help  my  brother,"  she  gulped. 
"You  said  you  would ! " 

Her  voice,  trailing  away  as  she  repeated  his  reiterated 
promise,  shook  Hullworthy  out  of  his  impassivity.  His 
position  he  shifted  slightly  but  not  his  steady  regard. 

"You  have  no  proof  of  this — this — this  statement 
you've  made;  certainly  you  have  not!"  he  said. 

She  swayed  against  him,  and  his  arm  went  around  her. 

"Yes,  I  have,"  she  contradicted,  scarcely  audible.  "Yes, 
yes,  I  have." 

His  intimate  knowledge  of  the  details  of  the  Pepperday 
case  pressed  upon  him  the  fact  that  it  was  not  impossible 
for  her  to  have  done  what  she  had  charged  against  her- 
self. He  was  stabbed  with  an  intolerable  pain.  Mightily 
he  drove  his  brain  to  contradict  itself  and  her. 

"You're  not  telling  the  truth,"  he  ejaculated. 

To  look  into  her  face  was  impossible,  for  now  her 


320    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

head  was  on  his  breast.    He  was  so  tall,  and  she  so  short 
that  he  bent  a  little  to  catch  her  answer. 

"Yes,  yes,  believe  me,"  she  breathed  laboriously.  "I 
am  telling  you  the  truth,"  and  she  repeated  the  words  with 
stronger  insistence. 

"But  you — you  had  no — motive,"  he  stumbled. 
"What  motive  could  you — you  have  had?  Ah,  you — you 
had  none — none!" 

"But  I  had,"  she  contended.  Please  let  me  stand  up 
straight.  I'll  try  and  tell  it  just  as  it  was. — They  weren't 
friends, — Michael  and  Arthur.  Fatty  hated  my  brother. 
He  told  me  he  was  going  to — to  fix  Michael.  Oh,  the 
King  would  run  around  with  Babe  Foster,  and  Fatty  was 
in  love  with  her  himself.  That  night,  after  Martin  took 
me  home,  I  had  to  go  back  downstairs  for — for  some- 
thing, and,  when  I  went  up  again,  I  met  Arthur  in  the 
hall.  He  stopped  and  said  Mike  wasn't  treating  him 
right.  I  begged  him — " 

"Where  did  you  get  the  pencil?"  Hullworthy  demanded. 

"He — had  it,  —  Fatty,"  she  quivered.  "Before  we 
started  to  quarrel,  he  asked  me  to  give  it  to  Michael." 

Helplessness  gripped  Hullworthy.  In  a  twinkling  he 
realized  that  his  interrogations  were  merely  involving  her 
more  deeply.  He  wanted  with  all  the  force  within  him 
to  snatch  her  up  and  bear  her  far  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
legal  vultures  that  would  soon  be  wagging  their  bald 
heads  over  her. 

When  he  silently  placed  her  in  a  chair,  she  made  no 
resistance  but  sat  hunched  over,  her  head  bowed  forward, 
paying  no  attention  to  Adelina's  wild  weeping. 

Once  before  had  Martin  Brewer  writhed  in  the  grip  of 
the  Almighty  God  as  he  was  writhing  now.  The  love  of 
truth  sent  up  to  his  throat  a  confession  which  stuck  there 
in  a  knotty  lump.  He  stood  on  the  very  verge  of  shriek- 
ing out  that  his  son  was  the  criminal. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    321 

Delaying  that  avowal  was  the  fear  of  what  the  words 
would  bring  down  upon  the  boy's  dear  head.  It  huddled 
him  weakly  into  himself.  He  no  longer  believed  that 
every  one  was  responsible  for  his  own  deeds.  His  son 
was  not  responsible.  Benny  had  not  had  one-half  a  chance 
in  the  world.  Benny  was  ill.  Benny  was  a  genius! 

Slowly  he  advanced  and  stared  down  upon  Patricia. 

After  a  space  she  seemed  to  be  aware  of  his  nearness. 

"I've  been  almost  wild — thinking  and  thinking,  dear 
Martin,"  she  said  in  far-away  tones.  "It's  been  only 
to-day — now — that  I've  had  the  courage  to  speak." 

Nevertheless,  she  wavered  under  his  piercing  eyes  and 
felt  a  quick  fear  take  possession  of  her. 

"Martin,"  she  begged,  shuddering,  "don't — don't  look 
at  me  so.  You  frighten  me!" 

Sphinx-like  in  immobility  and  unresponsiveness,  he 
might  have  been  modeled  from  stone.  The  only  sign  of 
the  battle  within  him  was  the  radiance  of  his  eyes. 

"Martin,"  she  repeated,  rising  suddenly,  "Martin, 
dear!" 

For  an  instant  he  allowed  her  to  examine  and  cross- 
examine  his  set,  mask-like  face. 

"You're  a  great  actress,  my  Paddy,"  he  said  then  in 
straight  level  tones.  "By  God,  Broadway  never  saw  any- 
thing like  you  to-day!  But  your  story  won't  hold  water, 
Lady  Pat.  You're  trying  to  give  Mike  back  to  his 
mother.  You  intend  saving  her  life  by  giving  up  your 
own,  but  you  can't  do  it,  for  I  won't  let  you.  Not — by 
a  damned  sight!"  He  grasped  her  arm  as  she  attempted 
to  speak.  "You're  wrong,  beastly  wrong,  my  girl." 

Sure  now  of  the  path  he  must  henceforth  tread,  he 
wheeled  around.  Adelina  was  crouched  on  the  divan,  her 
face  hidden  in  a  pillow.  In  her  he  found  nothing  to 
meet  him  half-way.  But  Hullworthy  —  with  one  apprais- 
ing glance  he  measured  his  enormous  figure. 


322     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

"You,  sir,  you,"  he  boomed,  "I  imagine  you  have  a 
wad  of  sense  under  your  bonnet!  Can't  you  see  that 
this  girl's  been  playing  a  part?  A  damned  fine  magnifi- 
cent part,  I  grant  you,  but  a  part,  just  the  same!  She 
didn't  kill  Arthur  Brown,  and  I'll  prove  it. 

With  extended  right  arm  he  advanced  until  a  yardstick 
would  have  spanned  the  distance  between  him  and  the 
man  he  addressed. 

"This,"  and  his  left  hand  touched  his  right,  "this 
hand — this  very  fist — See  it?"  And  he  gripped  his 
fingers  until  their  knuckles  showed  white.  "This  hand — 
stabbed  Fatty  Funny  Breeches!" 

A  scream  that  shuddered  into  a  sobbing  cry  came  from 
Adelina,  but  Martin  gave  her  no  heed. 

"When  I've  explained,"  he  said  with  heavy  emphasis, 
"it  won't  be  difficult  for  you  to  understand  that  this  girl 
has  lied — lied,  I  tell  you!  I  went  to  Cavendish's  twice 
the  night  Brown  was  murdered,  once  about  one  o'clock  to 
take  Lady  Pat  home  and  the  second  time — " 

Speechless,  Patricia  gaped  at  him. 

"I  won't  stand  by  and  let  you  take  my  act  on  your 
shoulders,  Paddy,"  he  thundered  passionately.  "True, 
you'll  wonder  why  in  hell  I  didn't  confess  before.  My 
boy  was  the  reason!  Every  time  I  tried  to  tell  it,  I 
remembered  him.  He's  as  helpless  as  an  angleworm. 
He  hasn't  a  soul  in  the  world  to  care  for  him  but  me.  I 
didn't  have  the  nerve,  when  Michael  was  arrested,  to  come 
forward  and  own  up,  but — but  now  you've  forced  me  to 
it,  Paddy." 

Thrilled  through  to  the  very  center  of  his  being, 
Patrick  O'Kelleron  had  listened  to  that  violent  confession 
with  a  sense  of  awe.  Of  all  the  people  with  whom  he 
was  acquainted,  he  placed  Martin  Brewer  among  the 
very  highest.  He  remembered  the  man's  incomparable 
work  and  then — then  he  withered  under  another  memory. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    323 

That  day  when  Martin  had  sent  for  him !  His  insistence 
that  Michael  Pepperday  should  not  be  electrocuted !  He 
had  always  taken  for  granted  that  Brewer's  emotion  at 
that  time  was  because  of  his  love  of  the  Pepperdays. 
Perhaps,  not! 

"What  took  you  to  Cavendish's  the  second  time?"  he 
demanded. 

Grateful  for  the  query  that  brought  him  to  the  meat 
of  his  story,  Brewer's  taut  muscles  relaxed  a  bit. 

"I  went  there  after  my  son,"  he  answered  promptly. 
uHe  was  there,  and  I  went  to  bring  him  away." 

An  ejaculation,  involuntary,  half-suppressed,  from 
Patricia  wheeled  him  about. 

"I  went  to  Cavendish's  to  bring  him  away,  Lady  Pat," 
he  reiterated.  "When  I  got  home,  about  half-past  one, 
Ben  wasn't  there.  Jackson  told  me  he  had  driven  him 
down  to  Cavendish's.  So  I  came  down,  and  it  was  while 
I  was  there  that  the  thing  happened." 

Patricia  crashed  back  into  the  chair  as  though  she  had 
come  in  contact  with  a  great  fist.  The  large  man  before 
her  grew  so  dim  she  could  see  but  his  outline.  Her  mind 
was  refusing  to  countenance  the  image  drawn  upon  it. 
Martin  Brewer,  the  beloved  of  thousands,  the  slayer  of 
Arthur  Brown?  No!  Yet,  so  he  had  claimed!  He  had 
said  it — he  had  owned  to  it! 

"Did  you  see  your  son  there?"  put  in  Hullworthy 
sharply. 

As  if  a  memory  insupportable,  terrible,  had  come  to 
him,  Martin  staggered  back.  He  groaned  aloud  but  re- 
gained a  portion  of  his  self-control  and  replied  unsteadily: 

"Yes,  I  did.  Benny  was  with  Brown,  and  they  were 
quarreling.  Brown  was  always  tormenting  the  kid.  I — 
I  took  Benny  down  to  the  car,  and  on  the  stairs  he  told  me 
how  Funny  Breeches  had  called  him  a  human  corkscrew. 
I  went  back  up  to  talk  to  Brown  about  it!  God  knows, 


324    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

when  I  picked  up  Michael's  pencil,  I  didn't  intend  using 
it—" 

Then  it  all  dawned  upon  Patricia,  the  meaning  of  that 
long  speech.  Every  word  burned  her  with  the  scorch 
of  fire. 

"Oh,  he's  telling  what  isn't  true,"  she  screamed,  spring- 
ing up.  "Don't  believe  him,  Mr.  Hullworthy!  I  tell 
you,  don't  believe  him! — Martin,  you  shan't  save  me 
that  way.  You  shan't,  Martin! — Benny  was  in  my  room 
when  I  got  there,  and  he  stayed  with  me  almost  two 
hours.  He  even  went  to  sleep.  Afterwards  I  sent  him 
home  myself.  I  put  him  in  the  taxi.  That's  why  I  went 
down-stairs.  Oh,  Martin,  how  splendid — how — splen- 
did— you  are!  But  you  shan't  save  me  that  way!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    325 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

THE  blast  of  an  automobile  horn  outside  cut  through 
the  deadened  hush  of  the  room  like  a  human  voice.  A 
boy  passing  along  Park  Avenue  whistled  shrilly,  and 
mingling  with  his  lilting  jazz  tune,  came  the  jangle  of  the 
trademen's  bell  in  the  basement. 

As  the  meaning  of  Patricia's  vehement  narration  filtered 
through  Martin's  mind,  a  wave  of  relief  swept  over  his 
soul,  leaving  him  voiceless.  As  though  petrified,  he  main- 
tained his  position,  his  lips  slightly  apart,  his  massive 
head  thrown  back  with  imperious  command. 

In  her  stormy,  unblinking  gray  eyes  was  unvarnished 
truth.  She  knew  whereof  she  had  spoken,  and  Brewer 
was  convinced. 

In  a  few  short  sentences  she  had  dispersed  the  hounds 
of  the  law  from  Benny's  heels  and  reinstated  him  in  the 
full,  radiant  light  of  innocence.  Down  went  the  wall  of 
reserve  between  father  and  son.  Away  sped  the  months 
of  the  man's  agony  and  suspense,  and  then  there  crept 
about  his  heart  a  joy  in  similitude  to  that  rapturous  day 
in  which  he  had  found  peace  before  the  model  of 
"The  Streams  Make  Glad." 

Oh,  the  bitter  hours  he  had  wasted  in  begging  God  to 
be  God,  and  then  forgetting  that  the  road  to  harmony 
could  only  be  traveled  in  singleness  of  heart,  with  con- 
science clean!  In  tormenting  fear  he  had  shivered  from 
the  iteration  of  "Thy  will  be  done!"  to  "My  will  be 
done — mine, — Martin  Brewer's." 

His  will  had  been  to  shield  Benny  behind  the  pros- 
trate head  of  Michael  Pepperday,  an  effort  as  impossible 
as  it  was  needless.  He  recollected  with  contrition  how 


326    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

reluctantly  he  had  lent  a  hand  to  Patricia's  insistent 
attempt  to  locate  even  a  thread  of  evidence  that  would 
give  her  brother  one  wee  chance  for  liberty. 

Not  so  long  as  it  takes  to  tell  it,  did  he  reman  motion- 
less, for  Patricia  voice  broke  into  his  profound  preoccupa- 
tion. 

"Send  for  Benny,  please,"  she  entreated  hoarsely.  "I 
must  see  him.  Go  directly,  and  telephone  him  to  come 
down,  Mr.  Hullworthy." 

But,  if  he  heard  her  frantic  behest,  John  Hullworthy 
made  no  move  to  obey.  He  was  very  pale,  nor  did  he 
appear  to  be  aware  of  his  surroundings.  He  was  ex- 
periencing the  actual  operation  of  the  law,  "And  they, 
twain,  shall  be  one  flesh."  He  was  kneeling  by  her  side 
in  her  Garden  of  Gethsemane.  He  was  keeping  step  with 
her  upon  the  pilgrimage  she  had  chosen.  He  was  pre- 
pared to  go  down  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow,  if  she 
elected,  for  he  feared  no  evil.  Selfless  love  sustained 
him. 

Oddly  abstracted,  he  appeared  to  Patricia  withdrawn 
somehow, — in  censure,  perhaps!  But  what  her  friends 
might  think  or  do  must  not  be  taken  into  consideration 
now.  She  flung  around  on  Miss  Pepperday. 

"Please,  please  telephone  for  Benny  this  minute,  Aunt 
Addie,"  she  begged,  hardly  above  a  whisper. 

To  bring  to  fruition  a  wish  of  one  of  her  beloved 
children  had  been  Adelina's  habit  since  she  had  gasped 
at  the  triplets  on  the  day  of  their  birth.  With  an  appeal- 
ing glance  at  Martin,  she  arose  and  for  a  moment  hesi- 
tated. 

"Hop  in  the  car,  and  go  get  him,  Addie,"  he  directed 
grimly,  and  Adelina  fluttered  away. 

Then  for  some  unmeasured  moments  the  three  were 
begirt  by  a  rare  silence  that  seemed  vocal  with  significance. 

There    shot    in    among    Martin's    reminiscences    the 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY     327 

memory  that  Paddy  Pepperday,  in  all  her  lovely  girlhood, 
was  a  self-accused  slayer.  His  smoldering  eyes  sought 
and  found  her.  There  she  was,  so  very  quiet.  Her  gray 
gaze  seemed  to  be  centered  on  nothing.  Like  himself, 
she  was  waiting  for  Benny.  Tears  came  without  warn- 
ing to  his  lids.  He  still  believed  she  was  dreaming  of 
bringing  freedom  to  Michael  in  thrusting  herself  into  the 
hands  of  the  State.  That  would  be  unbearable ! 

"Paddy  girl,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  rich  with  emo- 
tion. 

She  moved,  looked  in  his  direction,  but  he  knew  she 
did  not  see  him. 

The  handkerchief  between  her  slender  fingers  was  in 
tatters,  and  it  dangled  at  her  side,  making  split  strips  of 
white  over  her  dark  skirt.  She  remained  thus  a  moment, 
and  in  that  speck  of  time  Martin  went  close  to  her. 

"Little  Pat,  child,"  he  murmured,  stung  to  the  quick  by 
her  tragic  stillness. 

Drawing  a  long  breath,  she  tottered  into  the  arms  he 
held  out,  and  there  against  his  broad  breast  her  weary 
head  rested.  What  a  dot  of  a  girl  she  was,  not  an  inch  too 
tall  to  walk  under  his  arm.  Yet  those  young  shoulders 
were  willingly  carrying  a  burden  a  man  would  have 
shuddered  from  under  if  possible.  In  a  flash  it  came 
to  him  that  he  alone  might  make  an  appeal  which  would 
strike  home  to  her  tender  heart. 

"  'There  is  a  River  the  Streams  whereof  shall  make 
Glad  the  City  of  God/  my  Pat,"  he  quoted  reverently,  "and 
you,  dear,  are  Truth — God's  Truth — you — you,  child!" 

Michael,  the  King  of  the  Pepperdays,  beautiful  David 
of  Judea!  And  Yum-yum's  favorite  song!  He  could 
not  have  quoted  words  that  would  have  more  definitely 
confirmed  her  purpose. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something  about  my  husband, 
Martin,"  she  began  without  lifting  her  head.  "He — 


328    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Patrick  O'Kelleron — discovered  when  we  were  in 
Montana  it  was  I  who  had — had — "  she  was  endeavoring 
to  pronounce  the  word  "killed,"  but  her  slender  throat 
would  not  emit  it.  "Patrick  knew  Michael  hadn't — 
hadn't —  He  found  out  that — it  was  I." 

Although  she  had  spoken  with  extreme  effort,  every 
syllable  was  heard.  With  this  she  had  caught  Martin 
in  an  unguarded  moment.  Never  for  a  second  had  he 
anticipated  that  she  possessed  a  clinching  argument  which 
could  obscure  the  way  along  which  he  had  intended  to 
lead  her.  He  went  dumb  as  though  he  had  suddenly  lost 
his  tongue. 

If  he  had  been  less  distraught  and  strengthless,  he 
would  never  have  allowed  a  strange  man  to  touch  her. 
But  John  Hullworthy  had  whipped  her  out  of  his  embrace 
before  he  realized  what  was  happening.  He  saw  the 
strong  hands  gripping  her  shaking  shoulders.  He  saw 
her  lift  an  agonized  face  to  the  countenance  above  her. 

"Tell  me  what  your  husband  said,"  came  from  between 
Hullworthy's  teeth. 

"He,  my  husband,  suspected  me  for  a  long  time,"  her 
white  lips  spoke.  "Then  one  morning  he — he  accused 
me  and  said  he  was  going  to  bring  me  east.  Then — 
then — I  ran  away — and  he —  Please  help  me — me — " 

Before  she  could  finish  her  appeal,  her  voice  died  out. 
As  she  watched  the  tall  man,  one  set  of  his  fingers  went 
to  his  head,  and  when  they  came  away  there  were  clutched 
between  them  a  black  wig  and  a  pair  of  horn  spectacles. 

Fascinated,  she  contemplated  the  metamorphosis.  The 
laughing  countenance  she  had  glimpsed  in  Blackberry 
Lane,  the  joyous  aspect  of  her  lover,  Stephen,  and  the 
strong  lineaments  of  her  husband,  Patrick, —  all  were 
there,  but  transfigured  and  sanctified,  as  though  Yum- 
yum's  King  of  Glory  had  come  down  to  earth  to  sustain 
her. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    329 

"I — I  am  your  husband,  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  Patricia," 
dropped  in  husky  accents  into  her  upturned  face. 

Silent  shudder  after  silent  shudder  swayed  her.  And, 
when  she  sagged  into  Patrick  O'Kelleron's  arms,  she  was 
unconscious. 


330    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

DESPOILED  of  his  wig  and  spectacles,  John  Hullworthy, 
perforce,  had  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh.  His  life  had 
been  short,  and,  if  not  merry,  it  certainly  had  been  packed 
full  of  great  emotions.  Like  the  gallant  knights  of  old, 
he  had  lived  but  to  serve  his  "ladye  fayre"  and  by  single- 
hearted  devotion  had  won  an  imperishable  place  in  her 
memory. 

When  Patricia  had  fainted,  Patrick  O'Kelleron  had 
not  delayed  for  further  explanation  to  Martin  Brewer 
but  had  carried  her  to  her  chamber.  There  he  had  hung 
over  her  in  excruciating  anxiety  until  Doctor  Watkins 
had  ordered  him  out. 

Fortunately,  else  Martin  might  also  have  lost  his 
wits  before  the  miracle  of  Patrick's  resurrection,  Frank 
Shevlin  appeared  to  reassure  and  explain. 

In  the  meantime,  like  a  great  watchdog,  O'Kelleron 
paced  to  and  fro  before  Patricia's  door,  taking  no  count 
of  the  seconds  as  they  lengthened  into  minutes  and  the 
slow  minutes  into  an  hour.  He  heard  Adelina  Pepperday 
and  Benny  Brewer  come  in,  heard  them  join  Brewer 
and  Shevlin  in  the  drawing-room,  and  paused  in  his  bitter 
musings  long  enough  to  picture  their  amazement  when 
they  learned  of  his  reappearance. 

As  he  walked,  he  thought,  at  first  inconsecutively,  but 
more  and  more  clearly,  as  he  strove  earnestly  for  the 
truth  of  things.  With  terrible  insistence  the  questions, 
"Why?"  and  "What  can  I  do  about  it?"  confronted  him. 

Some  one  had  said,  and  the  saying  had  impressed  him 
then  and  recurred  to  him  now,  that  a  man's  experience 
was  the  externalization  of  his  own  thinking.  He  told 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    331 

himself  sardonically  that  his  mind  must  be  a  pretty  mess, 
if  that  were  so.  Vigorously  he  repudiated  the  imputa- 
tion that  he  was  responsible  for  the  calamities  that  had 
fallen  upon  him,  but  again  and  again  he  returned  to  that 

claim. 

So  inextricably  were  his  own  affairs  involved  in  the 
Pepperdays'  that  naturally  enough  they  crowded  upon  his 
attention.  His  prosecution  of  Michael  had  been  greatly 
commended  and  was  regarded  as  a  brilliant  legal  achieve- 
ment. Yet,  it  had  resulted  in  incalculable  harm,  not 
to  Michael  only,  but  to  every  one  Michael's  life  had 
touched,  and  a  full  measure  of  disaster  had  rebounded 
on  himself.  Could  that  be  right  in  principle  and  prac- 
tice, he  questioned,  that  which  had  produced  only  baneful 
consequences? 

Arraigned  at  the  bar  of  his  own  conscience,  he  found 
no  exceptions  to  the  law,  "Thou  shalt  not  kill!" 

That  law  he  had  thundered  at  Michael,  and  all  the 
time  he  himself  had  been  striving  and  urging  others  to 
kill  Michael!  In  the  very  face  of  his  denunciation 
Madison  Pepperday  had  fallen  dead,  a  victim  of  his  mali- 
cious efforts! 

"Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord," 
hushed  his  every  time-worn  argument,  based  on  social 
necessity  to  protect  life  and  property. 

"Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged." 

The  slayer  needs  must  suffer  punishment  for  his  crime, 
but  where  did  Patrick  O'Kelleron  receive  his  warrant  to 
inflict  the  penalty? 

Staggered  at  the  revolutionary  conclusion  he  saw  him- 
self approaching,  he  stopped  stock  still  while  he  followed 
his  reason  in  its  logical  progress. 

The  killing  of  Arthur  Brown  was  one  thing.  With 
that  he  had  nothing  to  do. 

The    attempt    to    kill    Michael     Pepperday  —  that 


332     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

attempt  had  been  his  deliberate  act!  To  it  he  had  given 
the  whole  force  of  his  personality,  every  resource  of  his 
and  of  the  State's  that  he  could  muster.  In  the  light 
of  his  present  conviction  that  the  lad  was  innocent,  he 
shuddered  with  horror  at  the  thought  of  his  own  predica- 
ment had  his  effort  been  successful. 

He  had  served  the  law  of  hate,  of  reprisal  and  resent- 
ment, and  he  had  received  the  rewards  of  that  service! 

Did  it  make  no  difference  that  he  had  acted  consci- 
entiously and  in  accordance  with  the  ordinary  opinion 
of  mankind? 

In  a  hot  sweat  of  intense  concentration,  he  dug  deeper 
into  consciousness.  As  one  gropes  awkwardly  in  a  dark 
house  until  his  finger  touches  an  electric  switch,  and  lo, 
all  is  brightness  and  light,  so  O'Kelleron  fumbled  about. 
Then  there  came  to  him  illumination.  In  quick  succession 
memory  turned  the  spotlight  upon  the  teachings  of  Him 
who  spoke  as  never  man  spake,  until  he  arrived  at  Paul's 
lucid  corollary,  "Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law." 

Ah,  that  was  it!  Love  for  God  and  man!  Perfect 
love  in  which  there  is  no  fear! 

Sustained  by  the  self-forgetfulness  of  that  love,  his 
wife  had  not  hesitated  even  when  the  path  led  through 
shame  and  disgrace  to  an  ignoble  death!  Her  example 
was  at  once  a  lesson  and  an  inspiration.  United  in  spirit 
with  her,  in  the  self-revelation  of  loving  humility,  he  was 
in  the  midst  of  his  thanksgiving  for  the  teaching  vouch- 
safed him  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  weeping.  It  was  a 
call  which  he  was  quick  to  answer. 

He  walked  softly  to  the  stairs,  where  he  paused  and 
listened.  Then  he  mounted  them.  The  crying  had  ceased, 
and  no  one  was  in  sight  when  he  reached  the  third  floor. 

Then  a  long  sigh  from  the  becurtained  cozy-corner 
under  the  stairs  which  led  to  the  servants'  quarters  was 
followed  by  a  voice,  subdued  and  quaking. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    333 

"Oh,  George,  if  I  only  dast  tell  Miss  Paddy  her  Michael 
didn't  stick  that  pencil  in  Fatty  Funny  Breeches!"  he 
heard.  "Fan's  sick  all  over  worryin'  about  it." 

"Billy's  a  crook,  Fan,"  came  in  hoarse  tones. 

Instinctively  Patrick  hushed  even  his  breathing.  With- 
out looking,  he  knew  that  the  invisible  speakers  were  the 
girl  and  the  bird  who  had  scurried  through  the  reception 
hall  the  day  before,  when  he  and  Patricia  were  descending 
the  stairs,  and  the  words  she  had  uttered,  stiffened  every 
muscle  in  his  body. 

"Polly  wants  a  cracker." 

"Not  a  snitch  will  you  get  to  eat  to-day,  George," 
sounded  forth  the  girl's  voice.  "Ain't  you  ashamed 
of  yourself  thinkin'  of  your  stomach  when  poor  little 
Paddy  Pepperday — " 

The  voice  ceased,  and  the  speaker  coughed  miserable, 
short,  hacking  coughs,  as  though  strong  emotion  had 
choked  her. 

Then,  pulling  aside  the  curtains,  Patrick  O'Kelleron 
looked  down  upon  Fancy  Cavendish,  extended  full  length 
on  the  plush  cushions.  Until  then  he  had  not  recalled  that 
she  was  one  of  the  witnesses  at  young  Pepperday's  trial. 
He  recollected  now  what  a  struggle  he  had  had  to  drag 
anything  from  her  unwilling  lips.  At  length  he  had 
passed  over  her  sullen  silence  as  belonging  to  one  afflicted 
with  a  feeble  mind. 

Through  the  dim  light  he  could  see  that  she  had  cen- 
tered upon  him  a  vacant,  unwinking  stare. 

Then  of  a  sudden  she  scrambled  to  .a  sitting  position, 
and  the  bird  fluttered  his  wins;s  and  uttered  a  squawk. 
Still  keeping  her  eyes  upon  him,  she  clutched  hold  of  the 
parrot  and  thrust  him  under  a  cushion,  her  face  drab 
with  terror. 

"Cat's  whiskers!"  she  gulped.  "Where'd  you  come 
from,  Mr.  Blake?" 


334    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Of  all  the  aliases  that  it  had  been  his  fortune  to 
assume,  this  one,  thrust  upon  him  by  a  half-witted  girl, 
was  the  most  incongruous.  Yet,  Edward  Blake  had  been 
mistaken  for  him  by  wiser  ones  than  she,  and  his  coffined 
body  was  in  the  O'Kelleron  vault.  One  forefinger  went  to 
her  mouth. 

"Shush,"  she  hissed,  "I've  never  told  a  soul  about 
Fatty  Funny  Breeches,  so — so  don't  beat  me." 

Into  the  inclosure  O'Kelleron  stepped  and  dropped 
the  curtains  behind  him.  The  small  recess  was  dimly 
shadowed,  but  he  could  make  out  the  girl's  body 
crouched  against  the  wall.  Her  head  was  swaying  back 
and  forth  like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock. 

"Ma's  jaw  wags,"  came  in  smothered  tones  from  under 
the  pillow.  "Gold  pencil,  Fan ! " 

"Oh)  you  heard  that,  didn't  you,  Mr.  Blake?"  Fan 
shivered.  "George's  a  cussed  mean  boy.  Most  times 
I'm  with  little  Paddy  I  hold  his  mouth  shut  with  my 
fingers.  Once  he  yapped,  'Gold  pencil!'  and  she  went 
white  like  grease."  Then  Fancy  groaned  audibly.  "I 
bet  Billy  Foster  sent  you  after  George  and  me." 

"No,  he  didn't.  I  came  myself,"  he  denied,  "and  1 
heard  what  you  said  to  your  parrot." 

"But  I've  never  said  anything  to  anybody  about  it 
but  George,  Mr.  Blake,"  she  whispered.  "You  can  believe 
me,  you  can!  And  I  wouldn't  to  him  if  he  could  tell  it." 

How  to  deal  with  this  unfortunate  child  was  a  riddle 
Patrick  O'Kelleron  could  not  solve  in  a  minute;  so  he 
remained  silent. 

"Your  bird  talks  too  much,"  he  ventured  presently. 

She  went  perfectly  rigid,  gasping  for  breath. 

"I  know  it!  I  know  it! "  she  agreed  hopelessly.  "He's 
just  what  ma  says  he  is — a  plain,  damned  fool.  Some- 
times he  can't  seem  to  understand  a  word  I  tell  him.  — 
When'd  you  get  back?" 


"To-day,"  answered  O'Kelleron,  "a  little  while  ago." 

"Have  you  been  over  to  see  Billy  Foster?" 

"Not  yet!" 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  first,"  she  confided  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  "awful  glad! — Billy's  mad  at  me  and  George, 
and  he  said  you  would  be,  too.  He  said,  Billy  did,  that 
you'd  chop  off  my  legs  and  hack  my  head  square  off." 

"What  did  you  do  to  make  him  say  that?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"Well — it  ain't  me  as  much  as  'tis  George,"  she  ex- 
plained in  a  whisper.  "I've  most  knocked  the  stuffin' 
out  of  that  bird,  but  he  will  yell  about  that  pencil. 
Billy  said  I  learned  it  to  him,  but  I  can't  remember 
when  I  did. — Ma  says  George  speaks  the  truth  when  he 
keeps  sayin'  Billy's  a  crook.  I  guess  he  is."  Her  head 
sank  wearily  against  her  shoulder.  "I'm  worn  out,  clean 
through  to  my  bones,  tryin'  not  to  tell  Miss  Paddy 
that  Mike  was  with  Milly  Foster  all  that  night,  that  he 
wasn't  even  in  sight  when  Funny  Breeches  was  hit.  Oh, 
me,  oh,  my!  I'd  give  her  everything  I've  got  outside  of 
George  to  tell  'er  Mike  hadn't  ought  to  be  in  jail." 

Alternating  laughs  and  cries  issued  from  her  lips. 
O'Kelleron  bent  forward  and  touched  her  arm,  and  she 
shivered  violently. 

"Didn't  I  tell  just  what  all  of  you  said  I  should  in 
court?"  she  pleaded,  anxious  for  a  word  of  commendation. 
"Wasn't  I  careful  not  to  let  'em  snitch  a  word  that'd 
take  the  blame  off'n  Mike?" 

"Yes,  yes,  you  were;  you  certainly  were,"  he  ac- 
knowledged, every  nerve  in  his  body  on  the  jump.  "But, 
Fancy,  Foster  lied  when  he  told  you  I'd  hurt  you!  You 
surely  didn't  believe  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  did,  and  how  could  I  help  it?  The  marks 
you  made  on  me  that  night,  when  I  said  I  wouldn't  help 
blame  Michael,  stayed  for  weeks.  Ma  saw  'em,  and  I 


336    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

told  her  George  did  it. — And  the  way  you  went  after  Miss 
Milly,  when  you  said  she  must  keep  Mike  with  'er  till 
morning,  was  something  scand'lous."  As  though  the  af- 
fair were  nothing  new,  she  went  on,  "Lordy,  how  you  acted 
after  you  and  Bill  lugged  that  big  whale  of  a  Fatty  out 
dead  and  dumped  'im  in  the  hall!" 

"Well,  it's  over  now,  child,"  soothed  O'Kelleron,  "and 
I  regret  I  was  so  harsh. — Have  you  seen  Billy  Foster 
lately?" 

When  she  shuddered,  he  knew  she  had. 

"Yes,  sir,  to-day,"  she  admitted,  "and  my  Polly  hates 
him  worser'n  dirt.  They  had  an  awful  fight  this  after- 
noon. And  every  tail  feather  is  out  of  my  poor  bird. 
If  I  hadn't  bit  a  piece  off'n  Billy's  arm,  he'd  a  had 
George's  neck  twisted.  You  see  Billy  thought  all  the  time 
George  was  dead.  Until  I  brung  him  here,  I  had  'im  hid 
up  at  Benny  Brewer's  house,  and  to-day  I  forgot  about 
that  and  took  'im  to  ma's  to  see  if  I'd  lammed  the  life  out 
of  Mr.  Clark  with  the  tongs. — Oh,  dear,  my  head  aches 
fit  to  split." 

Again  Patrick  O'Kelleron  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm, 
but,  somehow,  she  seemed  less  frantically  afraid. 

"Poor,  little,  exhausted  mite!  Come  over  here,  next 
to  me,"  he  begged.  "No  matter  what  Foster  said,  I  shan't 
hurt  you." 

"Won't  you  hurt  George,  either?"  she  faltered. 

"No,  no,  of  course,  I  won't!  There!  Now,  rest  a 
minute,  and  don't  cry  any  more.  After  a  while  I'll  go  get 
you  something  that  will  take  away  your  headache." 

Fancy  collapsed  against  his  arm.  Edward  Blake 
had  been  kept  so  constantly  before  her  as  a  destroying 
power  that  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  he  could  be 
other  than  brutal.  To  feel  that  neither  she  nor  George 
need  fear  for  their  lives  was,  as  she  whispered  to  her- 
self, "A  blessed  relief!" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    337 

Finally  she  began  once  more : 

"Bridget  told  me  Paddy  Pepperday  fainted  away  while 
I  was  at  ma's,  because  Mike's  bein'  kept  up  the  river. 
I  suppose  you  wouldn't  dare  tell  'er  he  never  killed  Funny 
Breeches?" 

"I  will,"  gasped  O'Kelleron.  "Yes,  I  will  — right 
away!" 

For  a  long  time  she  scratched  her  head  in  meditation, 
and  the  man  waited  in  a  torture  of  impatience,  difficult  to 
control. 

"I  can't  see  how  you  can  do  it,"  she  uttered  pres- 
ently with  a  spasm  of  trembling.  "Billy  and  his  sis- 
ter are  always  afraid  I'll  squeal,  but,  of  course,  I  would'nt. 
— While  you've  been  gone,  I've  did  everything  Billy's 
asked  me  because  you  said  I  must.  Only  I  couldn't 
pull  off  George's  head  just  because  he  knew  more'n  he 
ought  to!  Why,  I  traipsed  way  over  to  ma's  last  night 
to  tell  Bill  Miss  Paddy  was  goin'  away  to-day  and  Mr. 
Clark  could  come  along  and  get  his  wife." 

Although  every  muscle  in  Patrick  O'Kelleron's  body  be- 
came rigid,  he  merely  drew  the  frail  young  speaker  closer 
to  him. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  scared,"  she  whimpered.  "I  guess  you'll 
get  pinched,  and  so'll  all  the  rest  of  us — eh?" 

"Never  mind  that,  little  one,"  fell  from  O'Kelleron's 
tight  lips. 

As  yet  she  had  not  spoken  the  guilty  man's  name,  and 
he  simply  ached  to  ask  her  questions. 

"Did  you  hurt  Mr.  Clark  much?"  he  queried. 

"Yes,  he's  in  bed,"  she  returned,  "and  Aunt  Addie 
broke  his  beautiful  nose.  He  was  always  proud  of  that 
face  of  his'n,  was  Mr.  Clark.  Milly  Foster  laughed  at 
him  and  said  his  mug  looked  like  a  busted  ripe  tomato, 
and  you  could  hear  'im  groan  all  over  the  place.  Ma 
says,  ma  does,  that  it's  hellish  luck  to  have  to  run  an 


338     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

actors'  lodgin'  house,  and  so  'tis!  There's  always  some- 
one sick  or  drunk  around." 

O'Kelleron  had  a  sudden,  hysterical  desire  to  laugh. 

"I  only  hit  him  because  he  poked  Yum-yum,"  Fancy 
trailed  on.  "I'd  thought  all  the  time,  till  I  saw  him  do 
that,  he  wasn't  so  bad.  He  said  his  wife  wanted  to  live 
with  him,  and  other  folks  wouldn't  let  him  even  see  'er. 
Billy  said,  if  I  didn't  keep  watch  and  tell  'im  when  she  was 
alone,  he'd  tell  you  about  it  when  you  got  back,  and 
you'd  put  me  right  where  you  put  Funny  Breeches, — 
right  in  the  grave! " 

All  in  a  tremble,  she  sat  up. 

"But  if  you  tell  'em  you  stuck  Mike  Pepperday's  pencil 
clean  through  Funny  Breeches —  You  must've  been 
soused  proper,  or  you  wouldn't  have  stabbed  him  just 
because  he  said  you  cheated  in  a  card  game.  I  ain't 
supposed  to  tell  it,  but  Billy  says  you  had  an  ace  hid 
out." 

Stinging  tears  blinded  O'Kelleron's  eyes.  He  got  to 
his  feet  and  lifted  Fancy  bodily  into  his  arms  and  walked 
into  the  hall.  So  utterly  weary  was  the  girl  that  she 
did  not  raise  her  head  as  he  bore  her  swiftly  into  his 
own  suite  of  rooms.  Possessed  of  a  single  idea,  he  gave 
no  attention  to  the  familiar  surroundings,  although  this 
had  been  his  sanctum  ever  since  he  was  a  young  lad.  He 
placed  Fancy  in  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

Then  she  sighed  and  looked  at  him.  In  three  or  four 
seconds  she  changed  from  a  limp,  tired  child  into  a  wild- 
eyed,  startled  creature. 

"Why,  you  ain't  Mr.  Blake,"  she  cried,  and  then  she 
clapped  both  hands  to  her  mouth. 

"Mr.  Blake  is  dead,"  he  said.    "He's  dead  and  buried." 

Her  fingers  went  tremblingly  to  her  brow.  An  expres- 
sion of  perplexity  came  into  her  light  eyes  as  she  scruti- 
nized his  face  minutely. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    339 

"I've  seen  you  before  somewhere,  but  I  can't  think 
of  the  place  now,"  she  whined.  "Oh,  sir,  please  slip  me 
your  name  before  I  go  batty." 

In  the  full  realization  that  this  child-woman  held  in 
her  thin,  small  hands  the  only  key  that  would  open  Sing 
Sing  prison  for  Michael  Pepperday,  he  made  no  answer. 

As  though  she  remembered  his  kindness  under  the 
stairs,  she  did  not  shrink  when  his  large  hand  smoothed 
over  her  hair. 

"I'm  Paddy  Pepperday's  husband,"  he  answered  quietly 
at  last. 

Fancy's  posture  changed  in  a  twinkling.  She  poised 
on  the  edge  of  her  chair  as  though  she  were  about  to 
fly  away  any  instant. 

"That  can't  be,"  she  contradicted  slowly.  "It  can't 
be!  Billy  Foster  told  me  how  tickled  he  was  because 
Miss  Paddy's  man  was  all  blowed  to  pieces."  She  paused 
and  then  crumpled  back  with  a  sharp  cry.  "Now,  I  get 
it!  Now,  I've  got  it!  You're  the  man  I  lied  to  in  court." 

"I'm  Paddy  Pepperday's  husband,  just  the  same,"  he 
repeated,  "and  it's  most  wicked  to  keep  Michael  shut  up." 

"That's  so,"  she  broke  in  passionately,  "but  I  was  so 
scared  of  Mr.  Blake  and  Billy,  or  he'd  been  out  long 
ago. — Say,  are — are — are  you  cryin'?  My  Lordy  me, 
don't  do  that!" 

And  as  true  as  the  world  stands,  there  were  large  tears 
rolling  down  Patrick  O'Kelleron's  cheeks. 

"I  wonder  how  much  you — you  love  little  Paddy  Pep- 
perday," he  groaned. 

"Oh,  more'n  any  one  else  in  this  blasted  old  world," 
she  asserted  promptly.  "Ma  threw  it  in  my  face  this  very 
day  that  I  loved  Miss  Paddy's  little  finger  better'n  I  did 
her  whole  body,  and  I  do,  sir,  oh,  I  do." 

"And  no  one  can  help  her  but  you,  dear  child!  If — 
if  you — really  care  for  her  that  much — " 


340    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Suddenly  his  face  dropped  into  his  hands. 

So  long  had  Fancy  been  mother  to  George  that  mater- 
nal love  was  strong  within  her.  At  the  sight  of  the 
man's  shaking  shoulders,  she  slipped  to  her  knees  beside 
him,  and  one  of  her  slender  arms  fell  around  his  neck. 

"Fan's  here  to  help  you,  mister,"  she  comforted.  "Don't 
cry  any  more,  please  don't!  Fan's  goin'  to  take  care  of 
you  and  Miss  Paddy  just  like  she  takes  care  of  George. 
And  I'll  go  down  with  you  to  the  court  any  time  you  say 
and  tell  the  whole  damn,  nasty  story  just  as  'twas!" 

"Oh,  God,  how  I  thank  Thee,"  came  in  one  sharp 
ejaculation  from  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  and  on  the  finish 
of  that  prayer  he  snatched  Fancy  into  his  arms,  and  away 
they  went  to  Martin  Brewer  and  Frank  Shevlin. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    341 


CHAPTER  XLV 

IN  Patricia's  darkened  chamber  Doctor  Watkins  was 
seated  beside  her,  his  finger  on  her  pulse.  She  lay  very 
quiet,  studying  his  face. 

"I'll  wager  you  feel  better  after  that  sleep,  young 
lady,"  he  remarked.  "You've  been  going  it  for  hours. 
I'd  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  intended 
sleeping  through  the  night." 

"You  made  me  swallow  something  bitter,"  she  began. 

"I  surely  did,"  he  interrupted.  "The  state  of  nerves 
you  were  in  after  your  aunt  had  told  you  about  your 
brother  needed  something,  my  dear." 

"But  it  will  cheer  you  up  to  know,"  he  added,  "that, 
while  you  were  snoozing,  your  mother  has  been  improving 
by  leaps  and  strides." 

"I'm  very  glad,"  she  murmured,  "and,  oh,  what  about 
my  brother,  Michael?" 

"He'll  be  here  to-morrow  on  the  jump,  and  every  one's 
shouting  with  glee,"  proceeded  the  doctor,  smiling.  "A 
man  named  Foster  and  his  sister  have  been  arrested  and 
have  confessed  their  part  in  the  Brown  murder.  Of 
course,  Edward  Blake's  death — " 

That  Adelina  Pepperday  had  not  omitted  this  ghastly 
detail  was  evidenced  by  Patricia's  involuntary  gesture  of 
repugnance. 

Quick  to  take  the  hint,  the  doctor  picked  out  a  pleas- 
anter  subject. 

"Frank  Shevlin  is  with  the  District  Attorney,  ar- 
ranging things  for  Michael's  release.  All  your  friends 
are  holding  their  breaths  till  you  finish  your  nap  to  have 
a  regular  jollification." 


342     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

There  was  another  name  on  her  lips,  but  she  had 
not  the  courage  to  pronounce  it. 

"John  Hullworthyis  Stephen.  My  husband  is  alive,  and 
it  isn't  possible  that  he  loves  me,"  stormed  her  soul  with 
a  faintness  that  told  Doctor  Watkins  without  words 
what  a  bad  time  she  was  having. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  dear,"  he  said  solemnly.  "If 
you're  going  to  cry,  I  shall  have  to  scold  you.  Then  I 
won't  have  time  to  tell  you  all  the  good  news." 

"Oh,  doctor  dear,"  she  whispered  wofully,  "I  just 
can't  help  it;  I  can't  help  crying. — Please  forgive  me!" 

"I  will,  if  you'll  stop,"  was  the  paradoxical  rejoinder. 

"There,  wipe  your  eyes,  and  be  a  good  girl.  I  don't 
want  to  have  to  give  you  any  more  medicine. 

"Why,  Nancy  Clark  has  insisted  for  more  than  an 
hour  that  I  wake  you  up.  She  wants  to  tell  you  that 
Alexander  is  dead. — There!  I  popped  that  out  pretty 
sudden,  didn't  I?  My  wife's  always  taking  me  to  task  be- 
cause I  can't  think  twice  before  I  speak  once. — But  never 
mind!  That's  the  only  bit  of  calamitous  news  I  have. 
Alex  is  better  off  where  he  is !  When  they  arrested  Miss 
Foster,  he  shot  himself.  Nancy  says  it's  the  only  real 
favor  he's  conferred  on  her  since  she  married  him." 

After  fumbling  fussily  in  his  pocket  for  a  moment,  he 
extended  a  sealed  envelope. 

"Mr.  Brewer  left  this  note  for  you  when  he  and 
your  aunt  left  late  this  afternoon,"  he  observed.  "Here, 
I'll  rip  it  open." 

When  he  had  handed  her  the  inclosure,  she  was  forced 
to  dab  her  eyes  several  times  before  she  could  make  out 
anything  but  blurred  lines  across  the  paper.  Then  she 
read: 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    343 

"Dear  little  pal: 

"Congratulations  on  our  not  breaking  into  jail! 

"Forgive  me  for  not  asking  your  consent  before  I 
take  your  Aunt  Addie  off  and  marry  her,  but  you're  sound 
asleep;  so  I  can't. 

"I  know  that  I  have  won  the  noblest  woman  in  the 
world.  When  I  think  of  my  cowardly  treatment  of  her, 
my  Addie,  I  am  covered  with  shame,  and  this  confession 
gives  me  the  opportunity  to  say  further,  Paddy,  that  your 
womanly  treatment  of  Benny  at  Cavendish's  Labor  Day 
night  stands  out  in  the  child's  mind  with  startling  clear- 
ness. 

"He  and  I  have  talked  the  thing  over  from  beginning 
to  end.  Poor  little  kid!  He  was  as  solemn  and  soulful  as 
a  time-honored  saint  when  he  told  me  that  you  had  prom- 
ised each  other  never  to  tell  any  one,  not  even  me,  that  he 
went  to  see  you,  and  that,  as  long  as  he  lived,  he  would 
hold  those  two  hours  with  you  as  the  most  sacred  of  his 
life.  He  is  quite  reconciled  to  an  operation  in  the  fall  and 
sends  congratulations  and  love  to  you. 

"Addie  assures  me  that  you  will  forgive  my  cowardice 
without  my  asking  it,  but,  of  course,  I  cannot  close  this 
without  imploring  you  to  consider  my  profound  love  for 
my  boy.  It's  unnecessary  for  me  to  say  that  I  regret  my 
weakness,  and  that  I  look  forward  to  hearing  from  your 
own  lips  that  you  have  forgiven  it. 

"I  wouldn't  have  a  minute  to  get  married  for  the  next 
week  if  I  wrote  what  I  think  of  Patrick  O'Kelleron.  I 
don't  need  to.  You've  lived  with  him  and  know. 

"Oh,  my  Paddy  beautiful,  how  joyful  I  am  for  you,  for 
all  of  us. 

"Affectionately, 

"MARTIN" 


344     THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Below  the  signature  was  a  hasty  scrawl  in  Adelina's 
handwriting. 

"Darling: 

"I'm  taking  Benny  and  Fancy  and  George  while  I'm 
getting  married  to  Martin.  They  are  going  to  stand  up 
with  us. 

"Then  we'll  go  to  Balmville  to-night  because  I'm  wor- 
ried about  Miranda.  But  we'll  be  back  to-morrow  to  see 
Michael.  Mr.  Shevlin  says  he'll  have  him  home  free  by 
noon. 

"Dear,  I'm  such  a  happy  woman!  Fancy  is  wriggling 
with  excitement  to  get  away,  and  Martin  is,  too,  for  that 
matter,  so  I'll  stop.  Your  mother  is  as  quiet  as  a  lamb 
and  all  eyes  for  the  coming  of  our  dear  boy.  I  wanted 
Martin  to  wait  to  be  married  till  you  could  go  with  us, 
but  no,  he  says  we've  waited  too  long  already. 

"Fondest  love, 

"AUNT  ADDIE. 

"P.  S.  I'm  borrowing  your  hat  with  the  flowers  on  it, 
the  red  flowers.  I  don't  want  Martin  to  think  he's 
marrying  his  grandmother,  so  I'll  leave  my  old  bonnet 
here.  Martin  says  I  look  like  you  in  the  hat." 

The  paper  slipped  from  Patricia's  hand.  She  was 
glad  for  Aunt  Addie  and  Martin.  If  two  people  ever 
deserved  to  be  happy,  they  did! 

"Brace  up,  little  lady,"  advised  the  doctor.  "That  was 
a  miracle  served  up  on  your  table,  my  dear.  I  mean 
your  husband — " 

Ah,  that  was  true,  and  Patrick  O'Kelleron  was  her 
husband.  The  memory  of  him  in  Blackberry  Lane  rose 
up  before  her.  Her  happy  days  in  Butte  sped  on  quickly 
to  the  hour  in  Idaho  Falls  when  she  herself  had  made  it 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    345 

impossible  for  him  to  hold  her  in  esteem.  Without  that, 
his  love  had  perished,  of  course! 

To-morrow  she  would  have  to  begin  life  over  again. 
To-morrow  would  bring  a  greater  problem  to  solve  than 
had  ever  been  presented  to  her.  As  soon  as  Yum-yum 
could  be  moved,  she  would  leave  Patrick's  home.  But 
where  in  the  world  would  she  be  able  to  tolerate  life  with- 
out Stephen?  She  was  so  busy  reconstructing  images 
that  tortured  her  that  she  did  not  hear  the  door  open,  nor 
did  she  notice  that  somebody  tiptoed  in. 

But  Archibald  Watkins  quickly  recognized  the  intru- 
der and  as  quickly  got  to  his  feet. 

"Ha,"  he  coughed  so  strangely  in  a  long-drawn-out 
emphasis  that  Patricia  looked  at  him.  Archibald  had  of- 
ten wished  that  the  earth  would  swallow  him  up  before  he 
grew  too  old  to  appreciate  true  love!  Romantic  old  soul! 
Never  could  that  calamity  happen !  The  love  of  love  was 
the  basic  principle  of  his  life.  He  was  trying  to  frame 
a  befitting  speech  for  this  auspicious  occasion. 

When  Patricia  saw  Patrick,  she  stared  at  him,  ex- 
tremely pale. 

Red-brown  eyes,  instead  of  round,  dark  glasses, 
searched  her  with  insistent  gaze,  and  in  that  pulsing  silence 
did  she  fully  realize  her  love  for  the  man  whom  she  felt 
sure  she  had  lost. 

Doctor  Watkins  "ha-ed"  more  loudly  than  before. 
He  had  a  mouthful  of  oratory,  all  about  married  felic- 
ity, when  he  became  suddenly  embarrassed. 

"I'm  at  my  wits'  end,"  flashed  into  his  head,  but  he  did 
not  say  it.  No  man  could  be  at  the  end  of  his  wits  in 
the  presence  of  such  a  splendid  pair  of  lovers.  He  would 
beam  upon  them — add  a  bessing  and —  He  did  manage 
to  smile,  and,  of  course,  the  smile  opened  his  mouth. 

"It's  a  long  lane — that  has  no  turning,  little  lady," 
he  ejaculated  and  bolted  out  of  the  room. 


346    THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY 

Then,  step  after  step,  and  slow  steps  they  were,  brought 
Patrick  O'Kelleron  nearer  and  nearer. 

"I  know  what  you've  come  to  say,"  she  contrived  to 
stammer,  "but  I  wish  you  wouldn't — now!" 

Utterly  fatigued,  and  so  ashamed,  she  hid  her  face 
in  the  pillow.  Her  shoulders  gleamed  white  through  the 
thin  silk  of  her  nightrobe,  and  a  tantalizing  curl  embraced 
a  small  ear. 

"But  I  must  say  it,  Patricia,"  he  insisted  with  the  Hull- 
worthy  huskiness. 

"Then  I'll  get  up  immediately — if  you'll  please  go 
out,"  with  a  small  sob. 

"But  why  should  I  leave  my  wife  even  for  a  minute, 
after  all  I've  been  through  without  her?"  he  cried.  "I 
shan't  go  away!  So  there!" 

The  finish  of  his  words  was  but  a  boyish  spurt  of 
impatience,  and  Patricia,  thinking  she  understood,  passed 
it  over. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  your  wife  any  longer,"  she  wailed  from 
the  folds  of  white  linen.  "A  wife — why,  a  wife  isn't  the 
kind  of  a  woman  I  am.  A  wife — a  wife  wouldn't  do  what 
I  did — in — Montana." 

To  see  such  a  man  as  Patrick  O'Kelleron,  a  man  whose 
jaw  seemed  chiseled  from  steel,  tremble  like  a  child,  was 
pathetic,  indeed.  There  had  been  small  hope  in  her  words 
that  grew  to  greater  proportions  during  his  hesitation. 

Suddenly  he  bent  and  slipped  his  arm  around  her  and 
drew  her  dark  head  to  his  breast  and  held  it  there. 

"Barney  told  me  how  you  suffered  over  your  father, 
and  it  was  appalling,"  he  whispered  brokenly.  "Oh,  my 
birdie,  don't  you  love  me — even  a  little  bit?" 

The  flower  of  love  ventured  to  unfold  a  few  more 
petals.  She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him. 

"Stephen,"  she  faltered,  "Stephen!  Do  you  mean  you 
forgive  me?  Oh,  do  you  mean  that  you  want  me — back?" 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    PATRICIA    PEPPERDAY    347 

Boyish  tears  gathered  in  O'Kelleron's  eyes. 

"Want  you?  I  shan't  even  try  to  live  without  you!" 
he  exclaimed.  "My  Patricia, — my  wife,  my  darlingest 
dear!  Oh,  please  try  and  love  me!" 

Then  two  slender  arms  went  up  and  around  his 
neck. 

"I  don't  need  to  try,"  she  sighed  blissfully,  and  a 
silence,  deep  and  unspeakably  sweet,  fell  upon  them. 


STORM  COUNTRY  POLLY 


By  GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

Cloth.     12mo. 

The  opening  scenes  in  this  novel  by  the  author  of  "Tess  of  the 
Storm  Country,"  are  laid  in  a  squatter  settlement  on  the  shore 
of  Lake  Cayuga.  The  situations  are  tensely  emotional  and 
adroitly  handled,  and  Polly  herself,  crude  and  untaught,  but 
beautiful  in  face  and  fine  in  spirit,  is  an  adorable  heroine. 

"A   story   of  tensity,   movement   and   legitimate   emotion." 

—  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"Mrs.  White  is  a  charming  writer  and  an  excellent  plot  builder." 

—  Brooklyn  Standard  Union. 

"The  story  is  skillfully  told,  and  the  plot  engages  attention." 

—  Syracuse  Post-Standard. 

"It  will  at  once  be  recognized  that  this  novel  is  by  the  author 
of  'Tess  of  the  Storm  Country,'  and  therefore  it  will  have  strong 
recommendation  from  the  start  ...  It  is  a  story  quite  worth 
the  reading." —  Utica  Observer. 

"The  situations  .  .  .  are  tensely  emotional,  skillfully  intro- 
duced and  adroitly  handled.  The  reader's  sympathy  with 
'Polly'  and  her  people  never  falters  throughout  the  rapid  action 
of  the  story." —  Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

"The  style  is  human  and  pleasing,  and  it  holds  one's  interest  to 
the  end." —  Louisville  Times. 

"The  story  makes  excellent  reading  and  is  an  interesting  study 
of  this  remarkable  young  woman  who,  with  all  her  crudeness, 
exhibits  exceptional  characteristics  and  ends  by  being  loved  by 
the  reader." — Harrisburg  Patriot. 


LITTLE,  BROWN   &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000038022     0 


